


The Shape of You

by JKRT



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alpha Dimitri, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Edging, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Gender-Neutral My Unit | Byleth, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mentioned Blue Lions Students (Fire Emblem), Mild Praise Kink, No pregnacy, Omega Felix, Post-Time Skip, Sex Toys, beta sylvain, shades of past dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-01-20 23:24:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21289895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JKRT/pseuds/JKRT
Summary: Felix didn't have a choice in what he presented as, and never felt like he had a choice in who he could spend his (frustratingly irregular) heats with either. When he finally does get a choice, he doesn't quite believe it - but sure, he'll give it a chance. It can't be any worse.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & My Unit | Byleth, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 87
Kudos: 619





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning that the Dimilix is one-sided and pretty antagonistic in this; I love me some Dimilix but that'll have to be a different fic.  
Nothing spicy in this chapter, but I promise it's coming (badump tish).

It had been a miserable five years without the boar prince around. The first heat they spend together after so long apart, even more so. But from the moment Felix shows up, feverish and desperate, Dimitri knows exactly what to do -- where to put his hands, what to do with his mouth -- like no time had passed at all. But it _ had_, so much had _ happened_, so much was _ different_, and yet--

Old habits die hard.

Old instincts are downright immortal.

The only real sound in the room is the creak of leather as Felix angrily yanks at the laces to his boots.

Dimitri sits on the other side of the bed, clutching his bleeding forearm.

Neither of them speaks. They never did, afterward. That much at least hasn't changed.

Felix shrugs into his overcoat and flings his capelet over his shoulder without properly pinning it. He grabs his sword from where it was propped against the wall and storms toward the door.

“Felix,” Dimitri eventually calls. Felix doesn't even break stride.

“_Don’t_.”

\---

The predawn sky is steely gray and cold, to match Felix’s mood. He’s still in the process of tightening his sword belt as he stalks out to the training grounds, and the few monks who cross his path give him a wide berth.

Not as though they wouldn’t have _ anyway_; the scent of his heat is still clinging to him heavily. And layered under the smell of that near feral _ monster_, there’s no way any of them would dare come close under anything less than emergency circumstances.

Dew has settled on the racks of training weapons. A great many are missing - a casualty of the bandits’ occupation of the monastery. Felix slots his own sword into one of the empty spaces and takes up one of the blunted, heavy weapons. The first few whacks of the iron against wood send the few doves that roosted on the wall fluttering, and leave him the only living thing in training grounds.

At least, until he hears someone call his name.

“Felix?” He knows that voice and wants nothing to do with it. Felix growls at the sound and throws his weight into his next swing. The training sword leaves a deep furrow and he feels it all the way up to his shoulder. Footsteps crunch in the gravel toward him.

“Woah man, you _ reek _ of--”

He whirls on Sylvain, blade at the ready, snarling. Perhaps some of the boar’s instincts rubbed off on him when he was like this.

The tip of his sword is inches from Sylvain’s chin, and the other man just holds up his hands, not moving.

“Hey now, easy there bud.”

“What do _ you _want?” Felix grits out.

“To _ check on you_, geez.” Felix lowers the sword just enough to swing it back at the training dummy without catching on anything.

“I’m _ fine_.”

“Pretty interesting definition of ‘fine’ you’ve got there.”

“_I’m. FINE. _” He growls again, punctuating the words with hacks into the hardened wood. Behind him, Sylvain sighs.

“Yeah. Sure you are.”

\---

For the rest of the day Felix catches glimpses of short fiery hair out of the corner of his eye. But he still has duties to fulfill, so it takes him a few hours before he has a moment alone. After he’s collected the supply reports from the battalion leaders, he is walking through the deserted entrance hall and hears the telltale clank of armor distantly after him. Every time he looks over his shoulder, there is no one else in the long stretch of corridor.

So he starts forward again, and as soon as he hears the clink of metal plates, he calls out,

“_S__ylvain_, I know you keep hiding behind the pillars.” He rolls his eyes at the forced laugh he gets in response. He spins on his heel, arms crossed, scowl in place. Sylvain is leaning against the far door frame in a bad approximation of ‘casual’.

“Heeeey, you caught me…” Felix stalks over, stepping right up into the cavalier’s space.

“Why are you following me?” Sylvain leans away, putting his hands up.

“I’m not _ following _ you, I’m just-- Checking in, y’know, throughout the day.”

“I _don’t_ _need _someone to ‘check on me’ or whatever, so _stop_.”

“Felix --”

“**_Stop_**.” Felix shoves at the taller man’s chest, and Sylvan’s off balance enough that it sends him stumbling back.

The sound of armor does not follow him the rest of the way through the hall.

\---

Sylvain does not do him the favor of letting sleeping dogs lie, and finds him again in the mess hall during supper.

“Okay, so listen--” The redhead starts as he slides into a chair beside him. Felix drops the roll in his hand and stands up, taking his plate with him.

“Hey, Felix! _ Felix_!”

He finishes the meal in his room.

\---

After sundown, Felix takes the opportunity to train again, honing his aim in the dark. The monastery goes quiet as everyone heads off to bed. Only the owls keep him company in the empty grounds.

When his sword arm trembles too much to land a blow reliably, he calls it for the night. After tidying up the training area, he takes a detour toward the outhouse at the very edge of the grounds. His room is a long way and time and exercise have caught up with him - Nature calls.

As he settles in the enclosed darkness, there is a thumping at the door. It almost resolves his visit immediately.

“Felix? That’s you in there, right?” The voice is muffled by the wood, but still recognizable.

“_SYLVAIN_. Goddess, _ what _ are you _ doing _ here?”

“I wanted to talk to you about something."

“I am _ trying to _\--!!”

“Yeah, I know, but hear me out--”

“Absolutely _ not_.”

“It’s not like you have anywhere else to be!”

“That’s not the _ point_.” The wood of the door creaks, as Sylvain leans against it from the outside. It is quiet for a moment.

“Listen… I know about you spending your heats with Dimitri.” Felix reflexively clenches his hand around the hilt of his sword.

“_Who doesn’t_.” He snarls through his teeth.

“I know how much you hate it.”

That should be equally self evident, he thinks. But anger and shame burn across his face and a growl bubbles in his throat instead of words. Sylvain fills the space for him.

“There has to be a better way.”

"Are… are you here to _ matchmake?" _ He draws about an inch of steel on reflex, at the very idea of it.

“No! No… just… Can we talk? Like will you promise to actually sit and listen?”

“FINE, yes. But you have to let me--” Felix heaves a deep sigh. “You have to let me finish here. In Peace.” Thinking better of it, he also adds, “_Alone_.”

"Sure! Yeah, sure, sure." The wood creaks again as the weight shifts off it. "I'll meet you at your room."

Felix rubs his face with both hands. Goddess almighty, what was he just snared in to?

\---

Felix kicks open the door, just in case Sylvain was sitting outside it. He looks up and down the courtyard, but there’s no sign of the redhead.

“Hm.” Off to a better start than expected.

He ambles back to his quarters with no particular sense of urgency. Serves Sylvain right to wait longer after what he just pulled.

It isn’t until he gets within sight of his door that he spots Sylvain, sitting quietly on the floor just next to it. The redhead jumps to his feet when he sees Felix coming.

“Hey!”

Felix regards him flatly, then turns and fishes the key out of his pocket without greeting the other man. He unlocks the door but doesn’t open it, instead turning back to Sylvain.

“Well?” Sylvain glances between Felix and the closed door.

“You uh... really want to have this conversation in the hallway?” There’s hardly anyone else staying in this section of the old dorm building, but a monk crosses the far end of the hallway at that exact moment as if to prove Sylvain’s point.

Fire spreads across his cheeks and he shoves the door open.

His room is a disaster zone, and he knows it. It always is during his heats. He tries to find other ways to burn off the excess energy and sometimes they get destructive. Shredded parchment litters the floor, along with torn bed sheets and splintered wood blocks. There are throwing knives still stuck in one wall. Not a single thing is on a shelf where it should be.

Felix glowers at Sylvain, daring him to say something.

He doesn’t, instead perching carefully on the edge of a low bookcase and shutting the door behind them.

“So I was thinking…”

“A rarity for you.” Sylvain valiantly ignores the jab, not even feigning hurt.

“It doesn’t have to be an alpha.”

“That’s how it _ works_, Sylvain. That’s the best way to get through your heat, is with an alpha.”

“Maybe it’s the most effective way, yeah, but it’s not your _ only _ option.” Felix feels the itch behind his eyes as nameless emotions well up and fight for dominance - He isn’t fully put back together from his latest heat. He tries and fails to keep his voice steady.

“_Y__es_, it _ is. _ It _ has _ to be him--”

“No, Felix.” Sylvain says softly. “It really doesn’t.”

“What do _ you _ know about it?” He snaps. Sylvain shrugs with one shoulder.

“More than you think. Most nobles are expected to present as either omega or alpha, and they plan for that; I’m sure you remember the etiquette classes?”

Felix can’t help but roll his eyes. Goddess, the _ classes_. How could he possibly forget. 

“They don’t really change up the curriculum just because some punk teen went and presented as a beta, so I got _ all _ the same classes. Even down to proper courting.” Felix snorts a laugh at that. Sylvain of all people, going through the motions of traditional courtship.

“And they _ let _ you?”

“I can be persuasive.” Felix sends him a disbelieving look and Sylvain shrugs.

“They had to. I was the future head of my house.” Felix furrows his brow.

“What about your brother?”

“Miklan was an alpha, yeah. But I have a Crest.” Sylvain spreads his arms. “Funny how that works, isn’t it?” It’s more tired than bitter, when he says it. Felix angrily turns away and starts slamming wayward books back into their places. “He probably could’ve gotten a good political marriage out of it, if things had gone differently,” Sylvain continues. He pushes his voice a bit to carry over the sounds of Felix tidying up. “But that wasn’t what our parents wanted, I guess. Or maybe Miklan ruined it for himself. I don’t think I’ll ever know for sure, but there’s no use in grieving over what could have been, y’know?” Felix doesn’t want to think about the rare status his birth afforded him, being both a crestbearer and an omega. Glenn had been the ideal noble son - a crest bearing alpha, an exemplary knight of the realm. But everything that had gotten his brother in life didn’t matter now that he was dead. It left a void too big to fill and a shadow he couldn’t step out of. Even if his status could theoretically get him his pick of mates, the very idea of spending it with anyone he didn’t know made his skin crawl far more than spending his most vulnerable days in the intimate company of a killer. He starts kicking at the wood blocks, flinging them in the direction of the door.

“I’m not about to go marrying myself off.”

Sylvain sighs and rubs at his eyes. “That’s...not at all what I’m getting at.”

“What _ are _ you getting at Gautier?” 

“Just that there are other people that you can ask for help other than Dimitri. I’m sure Annette wouldn’t mind keeping you company, and Mercedes certainly knows a thing or two about going through heat.” To his credit, Sylvain doesn’t even imply Ingrid could be of any assistance. 

She and Glenn had been betrothed, but she hadn’t presented yet before he died. It could’ve been taken as proof that the Goddess had a sense of humor that the Galatea heir ended up being the only other alpha in the Blue Lions.

“I am _ not _ asking Annette or Mercedes.” He kicks one of the wood blocks a bit too hard and it ricochets under his bed. He scowls and crouches down to grope around the narrow space, his scowl deepening when he can’t find it.

“Well, then there’s always me.” Felix had moved to wadding up torn sheets from the floor when Sylvain says it and the whole ball of scraps slips from his hands and flutters down to the floor again.

“You.”

“Yeah.” Felix narrows his eyes, scouring over Sylvain looking for some clue of deceit - anything to hint at another motive, but the beta’s posture is easy and composed. Nothing on his face suggests it was a joke.

There’s a whole immeasurable web of questions racing through his mind but what he spits out is, “_W__hy _?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you offer to…” Felix snatches up the fabric scraps again, twisting and crumpling them together far harder than necessary. “To do-- _ That. _ With me?” Sylvain throws his hands theatrically.

“Oh, gee, I _ wonder_. It’s not like I see you every day and have to put up with you being spiny and miserable every time your heat rolls around because you spend it with someone you can’t stand to be near. But Saints’ sake, I’m your _ friend_, Felix. I don’t like seeing you suffer.” Silence hangs heavily between them.

“Do you need references? Because I can get you plenty--”

“_Fine_. I’ll think about it.” He snaps. “Now get out of my room.” Sylvain doesn’t test him on it, slipping out the door without another word.

As soon as the door is shut, Felix slumps on the floor against his bed. He picks at loose threads in the ball of torn fabric in his hand, poring over the conversation. He runs a hand through his hair, catching the scent of Dimitri, still lingering from that morning across his wrist. It smooths over the frayed edges of his nerves, even as it sets his stomach churning.

Next time it didn’t have to be Dimitri. The idea is as outlandish as one of Ashe’s chivalric story books…

And yet, it refuses to be dismissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I have any idea what I'm doing? Not at all.  
Am I having a great time? Absolutely.
> 
> Come yell about FE3H with me on Twitter, @fe_Tauros or @jk_rts!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes hello, have about 3,000 words of smut, as promised~  
This chapter is specifically for my friend, and only them (but the rest of you get to read it).

Felix awakens one morning, aching and tired. He squints at the sunlight, which is too bright, and kicks at the blanket which is too hot and heavy. When he finds that removing the blanket does not help, he drags his hands down his face.

Fuck.

It’s hardly been three weeks.

He braces himself to sit up, already feeling the headache start to settle in behind his eyes. The day ahead will be a long one.

\---

Only those passerbys with the keenest noses give him the usual courtesy of space. Everyone else is warned off with the snarl that hasn’t left his face since he left his room. Fortunately, most of the day is spent running drills with the Kingdom soldiers. If anyone can tell that he’s pouring more energy into his shouting, putting a sharper edge on his words than strictly necessary, they don’t mention it. By the end, he’s as exhausted as the soldiers, if not more so. It’s lucky he had only been directing and didn’t need to wield a sword himself - his hands are shaking as he dismisses the battalions for the day. He can’t tell if the sweat is from the exertion or from his building heat, but his skin is beginning to crawl under his shirt.

Hunger gnaws at his belly, but the flood of scents and sounds coming from the mess hall immediately sends Felix back the way he came.The clatter of dishware alone put his hackles up, but the heavy smell of roasted meat and so many congregated people absolutely turns his stomach.

He retires to his room early, picking at some field rations he’d squirreled away from his last heat. Eating does nothing to ease his irritation though, and his hands spent more time worrying at his own hair and clothes than holding food.

When the clock tower chimes, nearly sending him out of his skin, Felix decides he’s put it off long enough. He dumps the mostly untouched food in a bag, along with a canteen and a change of clothes, then straightens his clothes as best he can without just tearing them off. Sylvain’s quarters are thankfully close by; he shouldn’t have to bear them much longer.

\---

Felix bangs on the wooden door with a fist, rattling it in its frame. He tucks his hands under his arms as tightly as he can, trying not to shiver against the cool evening air, which is not at all helped by the shelter of the monastery walls. He is getting feverish, and with it come chills. It is as though he’s burning from the inside out - but the air sends him shivering into the nearest blanket, and then the feel of fabric sliding over his skin is as bad as skidding on the gravel of the training grounds.

The seconds pass like days on march, plodding and heavy. When the door opens and light spills over him, his is temporarily blinded, all of his senses already on high alert. 

"Felix?" It only takes a breath with the door no longer between them for Sylvain to understand. "_Oh_."

"It's starting," Felix says anyway, shouldering his way past the redhead into the room. At least inside it is warm enough that he can uncross his arms. He squirms inside his clothing, all of it purposely too large to touch him as little as possible. He wants so much to rip it all off, to be in nothing but his skin. He normally would be by now; Dimitri would’ve stripped him bare as soon as the door was closed and they would be tusseling on the bed, growling in each other’s faces, but this is-- Different. The unbeaten path. There are no well worn steps to follow here.

“I um… This is the first time I’ve… Without…” He admits, not looking at Sylvain. He can’t bring himself to even say the prince’s name, in the company of another. Everything feels wrong. The _smell_ is all wrong, he shouldn’t _ be _ here.

"Well here, let me take your bag." The other man steps forward, taking the satchel from Felix’s shoulder and searching for a spot to put it down.

The weight of it had been grounding. Without it, Felix thinks he might dissipate into steam. He starts pulling the loose fabric of his sleeves tight around himself, trying to hold it all in.

"Sit um… You can sit on the bed. Make yourself comfortable." Felix kicks off his goddess damned boots and hops on the edge of the bed. The empty space behind him yawns, demanding that he fill it with something - whether that’s shimmying backward until he’s resting against the wall or another person takes the space for their own.

“Let me-- come here, let me see you.” Sylvain is leaning over him, both hands cupping Felix’s face. Felix sighs and leans into it, eyes fluttering shut. The smoothness of skin contact overshadows every last itch and irritation of the fabric all around him. Sylvain smells bright like fresh ground herbs, more earthy than flowery. It’s light and crisp and clears his thoughts but doesn’t calm him any.

“When did it hit?”

“This morning.” Felix drawls, rubbing against Sylvain’s hand. If he tilts his head at the right angle, he can get the redhead’s thumb at his temple, right where that headache had taken root. “Been building all day.”

“You should’ve told me sooner…” Sylvain mutters. “Alright. I need to grab a couple things before you get too far along to leave alone. I’ll be right back, okay? I promise.”

“Whatever.” Felix shoves at him with one hand. Neither of them mention how he almost misses. Sylvain’s hands are back on his face, firmer this time.

“Felix.” He’s squinting against the lamplight like it’s the full noonday sun.

“_What _?”

“Don’t leave, okay?” And Sylvain sounds… worried. Scared?

Scared of _ what_, it’s not like he's the one about to lose his mind here.

“I’m not fucking _ going _ anywhere, I--” He grits his teeth and growls, mostly at himself. “I wouldn’t make it very far.” Sylvain takes the admission for what it is and doesn’t comment. One of his hands shifts so it sits on the back of Felix’s neck, allowing the cavalier to pull him into a quick, tight, one-armed hug. Felix draws in a lungful of that bright herb scent in the moment his face is pressed into the other man’s shirt.

“_Right _ back. I promise.” 

And then Felix is alone, in a room that isn’t his, but certainly isn’t Dimitri’s.

“Well.” He says to himself, “Here it goes then.”

\---

With Sylvain gone, Felix rolls around on the bed, trying to stay occupied. He undresses himself in stages, removing only a single article of clothing as it gets to be too much, to prolong the small satisfactions as much as possible.

It is not as though he does not have plenty of experience to draw from, on ways to cope with his heat unaccompanied. After the Tragedy of Duscur, then fully in the tumultuous throes of puberty, he had been alone. His father became entrenched in state matters, his brother was gone, and Dimitri…

Dimitri might as well have been gone too, for as much as he had been available.

So Felix had learned to deal with his new, intense heats on his own.

But here, in someone else’s private quarters, his usual methods of distraction aren’t available. He is still at least enough himself to recognize how rude it would be to act on any cultivated impulses. Sylvain is doing him a favor, and he will not repay it by destroying the man’s personal belongings - no matter how bad things get. His will power is good enough for that, at least.

Easier said than done, of course, as it well and truly sets in. Heats are a miserable business at the best of times, and since he had already spent several with Dimitri since the reunion, his body knows true relief is available and is _ rioting _ for him to _ hurry up _ and _ provide it _ already. 

He is already bare chested, and clawing at his own shoulders in a desperate attempt to quell his need to be touched.

He doesn't hear the door over his own rickety breaths. 

“Sorry, that took longer than I thought it wou-- Oh, _ shit_.” There's a sloshing sound and some large, muffled thumps that go equally unnoticed. Sylvain is just a smear as he steps in front of Felix, blocking out the lamplight. He takes hold of Felix’s face again, brushing sweat-soaked hair out of the way.

“Felix? Are you alright?”

“Or _ course _I’m not alright!” He barks. Even with the blinding lamp light blocked out, Felix can hardly focus his eyes on the man in front of him. Sylvain presses one hand against the swordsman’s forehead.

"Oh, oof, yeah, you're really in it now." Felix snarls wordlessly at the useless assessment.

"You _ think _?!" The shape of the other man bobs in and out, and then something cool and wet and smooth is being pressed against the back of his neck and Felix whines at the touch of it. Drops of cool water sluice down his chest, carving trails of ice into his skin.

"_B__reathe_, Felix. I’m here now, it’s okay." He gulps down air at the reminder, knuckles going white on the edge of the bed. Sylvain is too close and not close enough. The extra heat of another person is unbearable on top of the fire consuming him inside, but it’s as though that fire is reaching for the other man, wanting to draw him in and smother itself under his touch. Sylvain flips the wet cloth, also taking the chance to tuck some loose strands of dark hair behind Felix’s ear.

"Felix? Hey, come on bud, talk to me. I can't help if I don't know what's going on.”

Panic is creeping in Sylvain's voice, and Sothis damn them both, this is already a disaster. Why did he ever agree to this?

At least with Dimitri he hadn't ever needed to _ explain _ anything. Ever since the prince's very first rut, at the Western Rebellion, his feral instincts had been more than enough guidance for both of them.

He remembers how his heat had been triggered on that battlefield, being in close proximity to the intense rush of pheromones that came with an alpha's rut. How much more powerful the familiar scent of Dimitri had become, almost intoxicating.

How it was cut through with fresh spilled blood, the stink of death all around, and he had_ desperately wanted it anyway. _

How the prince's eyes had found him from across the field, that maniacal gaze that had just been preoccupied with slaughter now focused solely on him. 

How it pierced through him like a lance of ice, terror and need coursing equally in his veins.

How Dimitri had practically dragged him back to the camp, to his own tent, and - Seiros save him - Felix had _ wanted _ to go with him.

At the memory of it, Felix makes a pained sound, doubling over and retching as if about to be sick.

“Felix? Felix what’s wrong?”

There’s a clawing emptiness inside of his gut, demanding to be filled - something, _ anything _ will do as long as it happens _ soon_.

“What do you need? Tell me, and I’ll do it. Anything you need, just tell me what it is.” One of Felix’s hands shoots out, hooking into Sylvan’s shirt collar. He yanks, bringing their faces level and almost touching.

“I need you…” Felix pants, “To _ fuck _ me.” From so close, he can finally see clearly - and he watches Sylvain’s pupils dilate even as his eyes go wide with surprise.

“Oh… Are you sure?”

“_Yes_.”

“O-okay. I um… I’ll…”

“Got a _ problem_, Gautier?”

“Well, I mean--” Sylvain leans back, rubbing at the back of his neck while his other hand gestures vaguely. “It’s uh-- Not what I expected.”

“Expected?” Felix snarls. “You _ offered_.”

“I know! I just figured...after Dimitri, you wouldn’t really want anybody to…”

“I’m in _ heat_, Sylvain, I don’t--” Felix clenches his teeth and hisses a long breath through them. “I _ thought _ you said you _ knew how this worked_.”

“I did! I do. I just… I don’t want to hurt you.” The statement stings, in the core of his heart, but every nerve he has is raw and alight and there’s no time to pick at individual wounds. Felix instead growls, all teeth, and hooks his feet around the backs of Sylvain’s thighs and jerks him closer, trapping the other man between his own legs. Felix arches up, grinding his erection against Sylvain’s own growing bulge. The cavalier leans in, close enough for his shallow breaths to caress Felix’s face. He watches Felix carefully, soft brown wrapping around sharp amber as their eyes meet. Sylvain’s hands hover uncertainly at Felix’s waist, just brushing at the edges of the pants - the last piece of clothing Felix has on.

“_What_,” he heaves, “are you _ waiting _ for?”

“I uh… I don't know... what do I--" A different fire rises up in Felix, this time in his chest.

“You said you had _ references_!”

“That was with girls, man! This is different!”

“It’s the _ same principle_, you idiot! You even have the _ same parts_, so _ figure it out_!”

“Okay! Okay okay okay. Right.” Sylvain fumbles with getting Felix’s pants undone, pulling them off in halting motions, his hands get tangled up in them once they’re free of Felix’s legs.

“_How _ are you this _ useless _ after _ all the time _ you spend _ fucking around_?!” The uncertainty that had been clouding Sylvain's face contorts like a growing thunderhead into something heavy and dark.

He gets one arm under Felix's thigh and hoists, flipping him over. Immediately the redhead is against him, pinning him to the bed, forcing him forward. One hand clutches tightly at Felix's chin and the other makes a vice around his cock where its trapped against the sheets.

“You want me to fuck you Felix?” Sylvain hisses in his ear. “Oh, I will, and just you wait, it’ll be the best damned fuck of your life." The hand around his cock tightens and begins to move in small increments. Felix tries to buck into it but Sylvain is a solid weight behind his hips, so he only stutters slightly.

"I’m gonna do it _ nice _ and ** _slow._ ** I’m gonna take my time, riding you out, and you’re going to love _ every. Second_." An even tighter grip, a long slide to the tip of his cock, around and over the head and back down. "And it’s going to be _ so _ easy…" The strokes get longer, squeezing in between movements. Felix's hips start to rock in time with them. His jaw goes slack in Sylvain's hand. It's not enough, not nearly, but _ finally _ it's _ something_. He doesn't notice that Sylvain has stopped, leaving him to rut against the sheets. The sound of hastily undone pants is lost against the swish of moving fabric. "Because you’ll be _ so _wet for me, you won’t know what to do with yourself."

Felix wants to growl at that - to turn over his shoulder and snarl, but Sylvain is rubbing the tip of his cock against Felix's hole, drawing it back and forth through the slick that's gathered there, and oh, Goddess bless it, that feels good.

"You feel that? I'm about to dive right in, gonna claim your gorgeous little ass as my own. What do you have to say about that?”

He at least still has the presence of mind to hiss, “_Get on with it then._” but it comes out more breathless than impatient.

As soon as the head of Sylvain's cock breaches him, Felix's knees buckle. His feet slip on the smooth stones of the floor, opening himself further and he lets the bed catch most of his weight as Sylvain slides in.

“Ah...Fuck… Felix… you feel..._ so _ ** _good_**." A new fire spreads, starting at his chest, and Felix whimpers, biting his own lip to quiet it. Sylvain is right in his ear, whispering.

"No, let me hear you." He squeezes Felix's cock and thumbs over the slit in time with his thrusts. Felix moans and it’s loud, despite his closed mouth.

“That's it… I want to hear all the sweet sounds you make.” Two of Sylvain's fingers brush over his mouth, tease his lips open. They pry his teeth apart, forcing him to unclench his jaw and relax in Sylvain’s grip. They sit heavy on his tongue, filling Felix's mouth with the taste of sweat salt and distant remnants of leather. Felix's eyes go unfocused as Sylvain finds a steady cadence. Hot breath and teeth graze over the side of his neck.

“_Fuck_, Felix, you're gorgeous like this, you look so good under me.” There's something dizzying about the words, the idea that there could be anything beautiful about being in heat. Sylvain keeps rambling praise, “_Goddess… _ I could fuck you like this forever. You're such a smooth ride, baby, it's perfect.”

Sparks burst across his skin, fizzing and popping in no relation to the movement of Sylvain behind him. The sheets grow sticky under him, clinging to his skin as he’s pushed against it. He drops his weight forward onto the bed, letting his face fall on top of his arms, hardly supporting any of his own weight now. It changes the angle of where they’re joined and Sylvain moans, missing a beat in his rhythm.

Hands come to clutch at Felix’s waist, fingertips digging in as Sylvain sets a new pace. Air flows across his sweat-slick skin in cooling waves, banking the fire inside him to something tolerable at last. The grip at his waist tightens almost painfully and then arms are wrapping around him like iron bands, forged through lancework. Sylvain is over him, pressed against his back, crushing them together, but he can hardly feel it through the satisfaction of finally, _ finally_ being full.

\---

When Sylvain releases him, it is almost reluctantly. His arms loosen one at a time, sliding along Felix’s sides. The cavalier’s hands rest on his back, rubbing gentle circles before they pull away entirely. He peels them apart slowly, helping Felix to sit up on the edge of the bed. The redhead is beaming, flushed to match his hair. He looks so pleased with himself that Felix almost can’t ask anymore of him. The prickling along his spine of another flare forces it out of him.

"Sylvain…" He pants, almost whining. Regret and shame seep into the edges of his words. "I’m not…"

He had already cum once with Sylvain inside him, but his heat already has him back at full hardness.

"_S__aints_, Felix." And Sylvain drops to his knees, spreading Felix's legs apart as he goes, and swallows Felix's member in one go. Sensitivity and Sylvain's clever tongue quickly have him crying out and it's not long before he's cumming again, both his hands fisted in Sylvain's hair.

Felix slumps back onto his elbows, the edge of his heat curbed well enough to give him a few moments peace. As he pants, breaths slowly beginning to even out, he opens his eyes. Sylvain has gotten to his feet, and is wiping his mouth before looking down at his hand almost in disbelief.

Felix finds his voice and says, "What happened to 'slowly'?" And the smile is back, directed fully at him.

"Oh shut up." Sylvain laughs, and punches him lightly in the arm.

He never laughed like this with Dimitri.

Something warm kindles in his chest. Something soft and light and delicate.

Its freeing, compared to the stuffy, sweat-tacky weight of exhaustion in his bones.

Felix thinks it might be something similar to hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell about FE3H with me on Twitter, @jk_rts!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, this one is a WHOPPER. We're really earning that E rating here.
> 
> The google doc I write this in suddenly started adding m-dashes correctly instead of the -- I've been doing, so sorry for the inconsistency!

Felix stays in Sylvain's room that night, sharing the bed. It's not particularly big, but they manage. Sylvain gives him as much space as he's able, cramming into the slot between the mattress and the wall. He leaves one hand resting lightly on Felix’s abdomen, and Felix lets him. He is used to Dimitri’s bulk caging him in, so to have that freedom is refreshing. He won’t admit that the little weight is reassuring.

He sleeps soundly for several hours, which is more than he usually gets during a heat. When he wakes in the deep hours of the night, he can feel it simmering just beneath his skin, but it's...tolerable. He doesn't want to claw all of his flesh off his bones. He can still think clearly. Massive improvements all around, really. He goes to roll over and feels the sheets peel off him in places where sweat and...other things have dried. He scoffs at himself and writhes his way free, now disgustedly aware of everything that clings to his skin.

Sylvain is deeply asleep and snoring quietly, even after Felix has thrown off his hand. He scoops up enough clothes to be considered decent if he runs into anyone, and steps out. In the pitch black of the hallway, he takes his first steps toward the stairs and stops.

Dimitri’s door stands between him and the exit. And really, it was only by chance that he hadn’t run into the prince at all yesterday.

Felix reaches out to touch it. Perhaps that same luck means the room behind it is empty tonight. He rests his forehead against the smooth, ancient wood. The scent is faded, but it is there. Fresh pine. The cold, damp forests of Faergus - of home. As always, it carries the phantom tang of copper.

Even the remnants of it immediately set his nerves at ease like a cooling balm.

His luck holds - there is only silence beyond the locked door.

At this late hour, the monastery is dead quiet but for the wind. The bathhouse is of course empty, but Felix ducks into one of the small offshoots anyway just to guarantee privacy. The steam is a bit overwhelming, but the feeling of soap and the contrast of the cool water he rinses off with more than makes up for it. 

He’s so used to having Dimitri’s scent on him during his heats that it feels as though it’s missing after his quick bath, even if it wasn’t there to begin with. Every pass of his hands by his face as he combs and plaits his hair leaves him with clashing impressions of herbs and flowers. The wrongness of it teases at a new headache. He starts breathing through his mouth to avoid it.

By the time he’s done, the heat and the steam is insufferable, and stepping out into the brisk dead of night is refreshing, for once. Calming, in its own way.

He ambles back toward the living quarters, almost enjoying himself.

It won’t last. It never does.

As he is walking up the steps to get back to the rooms, his eyes are cast to the floor, careful to pick out a path in the darkness. He looks up when he reaches the top of the stairs and sees a separate shadow, looming in the hallway, and his heart freezes in his chest.

But there’s a single sharp crack as Sylvain yells, “Felix!” and then is bolting toward him. The ice in chest shatters as he is snatched him into a warm hug. The other man is in nothing but his drawers, putting bare skin along every inch where they touch. Sylvain presses his face into the crook of Felix’s neck before inhaling deeply. “I saw you were gone, and thought maybe--”

Sylvain pulls away just enough to give the swordsman a pat down - head, shoulders and arms - as though checking that he’s real. Felix gently but firmly pushes him away. 

“I just wanted to clean off.” He says. Then he wrinkles his nose and adds, “Your bed is disgusting.” 

He waits for Sylvain to make an obvious joke, but the redhead just laughs breathily and hugs him again.

“Yeah, I’ll change the sheets, I promise.” He doesn’t seem about to let go anytime soon, so Felix lets his weight fall against the other man, and closes his eyes, breathing in the ground herb smell. It’s better than soap.

They stand quietly in the hallway for a few moments before Sylvain tilts his face into Felix’s hair and murmurs, “Still going?” Felix sighs.

“Yeah,” He answers, just as quietly. “It... comes in waves, sometimes.”

"Huh.” Sylvain replies eloquently. And then he is pulling away, hands sliding down Felix’s arms again like he’s still checking the shorter man isn’t an illusion.

“How, uh… How long do you have then? Until the next wave.” Felix shrugs one shoulder, not bothering to try and throw off Sylvain’s hands.

“A few hours, maybe.”

“Okay.” Sylvain lets his hands drop to his sides finally, though they twitch like he’s about to reach out again. He steps to the side of the hallway, one hand scratching the back of his head while the other gestures ambiguously in the open air.

“Did you still…?”

Felix looks at the shadow of him, then down the dark hallway. Moonlight pools out from Sylvain’s open door, making the other corridors disappear into their dark recesses as though not there at all. 

“Yeah.” There is a flash of teeth in the dark as Sylvain grins, a brush of fingers at his sleeve, and then they are walking toward the silvered gate of Sylvain’s room.

Dimitri’s door is an abyss, lurking at the edge of the light, threatening to swallow him if he doesn’t step carefully. He pauses midstep, staring at it, feeling the pull rise along the backs of his legs like snakes slithering up from the floor. The creak of wood calls him back to the present.

Sylvain is holding his door open for Felix, stood off to the side to welcome him in. There is no blinding lamplight this time - only the soft, cold glow of the moon, which turns the red of Sylvain’s hair to a pale fire. Felix holds his breath as he steps over the threshold this time. The room smells strongly of both him and Sylvain; the intensity of his heat matching the long term layering of Sylvain’s presence.

Sylvain closes and locks the door - careful, quiet - and passes behind him, skimming his hand over Felix’s lower back.

“First things first,” he says, and he tears the blanket and sheets off the bed. Leaving them all in a heap to the side, Sylvain stoops down at the foot of his bed and picks up a neat parcel of folded fabric. “It’s a good thing I grabbed these earlier; Wouldn’t want to have to go hunting for them in the dark.”

As he pulls it apart and shakes it out, Felix sees that it’s a set of linens for the bed. Looking back down, there is a pile of them on the floor, next to several large waterskins and - his stomach tightens - a wash basin filled with towels and washcloths.

The fluttering of fabric is a gentle noise as Sylvain spreads the sheets and blankets with more diligence than Felix has ever seen him give his own armor and lances. Once the bed is remade - now easily the tidiest thing in the room - Sylvain jumps onto it, diving under the covers as he worms his way to the far side. He raises up the corner of the blanket, looking back to Felix expectantly. His arm falters when Felix stays where he is, on the far side of the room.

“Come back to bed Felix.” There’s that shade of worry again, outlined in moonlight as a crease between Sylvain’s brows. The moment he reaches for the hem of his shirt, it disappears. As his shirt comes off and he steps forward, the line of Sylvain’s shoulders softens, the lifted blanket curving downward. Felix climbs into the empty space left for him and settles in, turning his back toward Sylvain. The taller man drapes the blankets around them both, careful to give Felix space as he does so. While he’s pulling his hand away, Felix catches him around the wrist. Sylvain goes completely still behind him, but says nothing. Felix scoots backwards, closer to the cavalier without touching. He presses the captured hand flat against his ribs and squeezes it tightly before tucking his own hand under his pillow.

“Ah.” Sylvain whispers. “Okay.” He shifts, so he can rest his elbow on Felix’s side while he splays his fingers and rubs back and forth absently with his thumb. Felix takes a deep breath and lets it out all at once, sinking into the mattress. Soon, the motion of Sylvain’s thumb slows, coming to a stop altogether as his breaths change to gentle snores. The space at his back fills with the warmth radiating off his bedmate, but it remains empty space between them, even as Felix manages to fall asleep himself.

\---

The next time Felix wakes up, it is only enough to know that he is _uncomfortably _ hot. There is too much touching him all over and not enough touching him where he wants. And he wants it _ now_. He thrashes, trying to get to rid himself of the hot weight on his side and the oppressive linens that entangle both so that he’ll be free to relieve the incessant fire itching under his skin.

The weight moves of its own accord, smoothing over his side to find its way into his pants, between his legs where Felix needs contact most. He moans loudly, frantically moving his hips trying to get friction against it. He makes it out to be a hand when it finally grasps at and encircles his dick. At that moment, he doesn’t care who it’s attached to, so long as it stays _ right _ there, _ yes_, that’s _ exactly _what he wants.

Another arm slides under his chest and wraps around him. He clutches at it for stability, slotting their fingers together and gripping tight. Heat spreads across his back as something presses against him. Felix arches against it, bracing, rolling his hips up into the loose circle of his partner’s hand. His pants turn into small cries as he chases his own pleasure, too deep in his own need to worry about being embarrassed. All his body knows is _heat heat heat_, and that is all that matters. There is a growing pressure at his buttocks, steadily getting firmer, and he gladly grinds against it. Moving between the two points of pleasure, Felix quickly reaches his climax. His whole body undulates as everything goes tense, the fire bursting out from under his skin and washing over him. Whoever is holding him pulls him close, slotting nicely against him, pushing that glorious hardness right up against his ass. Felix grinds back on it, wanting it inside, even after having just come. This bout is going to be a harsh one, he can tell already.

His bedmate nuzzles sleepily against the nape of his neck.

“Mmmfff...Felix…?”

He turns over his shoulder until he catches sight of that distinct bed-tousled red hair. Sylvain’s eyes are still closed, his lashes still stuck with sleep dust. Was he still asleep...?

Felix nudges the other man with his elbow.

“Sylvain.” The redhead sighs softly and nuzzles a bit closer. 

“G’morning…” The hand down Felix’s pants wanders, brushing along the length Felix’s half hard member. Felix shudders, his temperature already climbing again. He elbows Sylvain a little harder, trying to push him away enough that he can shove off his pants, now sticky with cum and slick.

“Sylvain, I need to—”

Sylvain yawns, taking a deep breath as he stretches by squeezing Felix against him.

“_Sylvain_!”

“_Oh_.”

Sylvain goes from barely conscious to fully alert in the space of a blink. Both his hands spring off of Felix as though shot from a bow. In the process he brings the blanket with him, and Felix is kicking off his pants. He gasps in relief once he’s free of them, laying in the bed, panting, with Sylvain poised just behind him.

“What do you need?”

“Anything,” he pants. And that’s the truth - the fire in him is already well under way, and will consume whatever he is given.

“So can I…?” Sylvain skims his fingers along Felix’s arm to finish his question. The lightness of the touch is refreshing, sending chills all up his back. Those themselves are delightful even, in comparison to the roaring fire in his belly.

“_Yes._” Sylvain places his hand more firmly at the crook of Felix’s elbow, rubbing gently with his thumb. Taking the soft noise Felix makes as encouragement, he comes closer, positioning himself so that he’s cradling Felix the same way he had when they were sleeping. Felix rolls part-way onto his front, gulping in air as he grinds his erection against the bed. Sylvain comes closer still, brushing the tip of his nose into Felix’s hair.

“Can I use my mouth on you?”

“You already took that liberty last night, don’t see why you’re asking now.”

“No I mean like…” Wet heat spreads at the nape of Felix’s neck as Sylvain lays a sloppy open-mouthed kiss there. It sends a shiver down his spine.

“O-oh. Yeah, fine.” Sylvain hums happily as he mouths his way over the side of Felix’s neck.

“And what about this?” He asks, gently brushing a thumb back and forth over one of Felix’s nipples. Felix gasps, arching away from it, and Sylvain’s hand stills, hovering just over his skin but no longer touching.

“Is that a no?”

“N-no, it-- that’s fine too.” With the approval, Sylvain clamps his mouth down just behind Felix’s ear, sucking hard and teasing with his tongue as he rubs circles over Felix’s nipples. The combination makes Felix go limp.

“Yeah, there you go…” Sylvain shifts closer, gathering Felix up in his arms to get them flush together, chest to back. “I’ve got you.” 

Sylvain strokes him slowly, teasingly dragging his fingers along the shaft on the upstroke. Felix moans aloud again, turning his face into the mattress to muffle it. Sylvain surges against him, purring directly into his ear.

“Mmm...You make the _ best _ noises.” He takes the shell of Felix’s ear between his teeth, scraping lightly. He pinches at a nipple and Felix mewls. “Goddess, _ yes_, just like that.”

Sylvain wedges a shoulder under Felix and then _ rolls_, bringing the shorter man fully on top of him. His long legs come around, hooking his ankles around Felix’s and forcing the swordsman to keep his legs open as he picks up the speed of his hand. Felix arches over him, rolling his hips against Sylvain’s as slick pools in his lap, soaking into the drawers he slept in. Just as Felix is reaching his crest, Sylvain switches from his full hand to just rubbing between his fingers. Felix’s voice cracks with need on his next cry, writhing against Sylvain, questing for more friction.

“Ohhh, I could just keep you like this, all day. That’d wear you out, wouldn’t it? Would you like that?” Felix whines, arching and shuddering, before he snarls Sylvain’s name. He has one hand twisted in the sheets, and the other fisted in Sylvain’s hair, yanking to show his displeasure. Sylvain laughs, even as he winces.

“Alright, that’s a ‘no’ then...” He closes his hand around Felix’s cock, bringing his other hand down to pin the shorter man’s hips against his own. His motions are short and fast, and soon short, fast bursts of cum are splattering over Felix’s belly. 

Felix lets his head loll to the side and glares backward at Sylvain out of the corner of his eye. His voice is rough when he says, “Let go of me.” Sylvain grins big enough to make himself squint, and gives Felix a friendly squeeze across the chest with one arm, but he slides out from under Felix, carefully laying him out on the sheets. Sylvain busies himself with shoving aside all the blankets while Felix catches his breath. 

It is hard to think when all his blood is elsewhere; flushed all across his body, and his member half hard again. Despite having just woken up, weariness weighs down his limbs as his heat smoulders in his bones. Dehydration has planted the seeds of a headache somewhere under the haze.

Water. What he needs is water.

“Sylvain.” It’s almost a croak. 

“Hm?” The redhead looks up, eyes bright and alert and face flushed attractively. With the way Sylvain is sitting, Felix can clearly see the outline of an erection against his drawers, made all the more clear by how wet the fabric is with Felix’s slick. An extra wave of warmth flares on his cheeks as he sees that, embarrassment roiling in his stomach at the knowledge that he’s still just as wet, giving the same treatment to the sheets now under him. His mouth is so dry, after all he’s been yelling, but it starts to water all the same at the sight. It sparks that gnawing pain in his gut that reminds him he’s been empty all this time. The cavalier’s making no effort to hide his arousal, but also making absolutely no move to do anything about it - a decision Felix can’t wrap his mind around. The indignation at how much he _ wants _ something inside him is _ scorching_, and that idiot is just _ oblivious _ to what he’s got.

Unacceptable.

He draws one knee toward his chest, planting his foot just offside his hip. The coolness of the air spreads over his wet skin as he exposes himself. His hands wander down to touch himself, swirling his fingers through the copious amount of slick. He cants his hips up when he catches Sylvain’s eyes flick down toward the motion. Felix sinks two fingers into himself easily, moaning as he pushes in as far as he can reach. He crooks his fingers a bit, rocking against them. He cracks his eyes open and peers at Sylvain through his lashes. The redhead’s brown eyes have gone nearly black as his pupils consume his irises. The corners of Felix’s mouth twitch upward with the minor victory.

“Am I gonna have to do this myself, or what?” 

Sylvain breaths out a soft, “Oh.” He crawls forward on his hands, gently guiding Felix’s legs further apart so he can sit between them. His eyes meander over all of Felix’s body and Felix feels their trails like sharp rakes.

“W-what are you staring at?” He mumbles, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. “I don’t—” He moans, suppressing a shudder. “I don’t have all day.” Sylvain shucks his ruined drawers and tentatively places his hand over Felix’s, sliding two of his fingers alongside the swordsman’s. Felix arches up, bearing down on their combined fingers. He tugs at the edge of his own hole, opening himself up to tempt Sylvain further.

“Come _ on _already...” he hisses, and is gratified when Sylvain shuffles closer on his knees, taking advantage of Felix’s help to sheath himself. Felix’s hands both reach upward to brace against the headboard as he forces himself down onto Sylvain’s length. Burning hot hands clamp around his wrists as the rest of Sylvain sprawls over him. The redhead dives in, nipping at any skin he can reach with his mouth while he keeps Felix’s hands pinned. Felix tilts his chin up to allow it, but adamantly does not offer up his throat. He jerks as Sylvain flicks his tongue over his nipples, teasing them to peaks before taking them wholly into his mouth. His ankles lock behind Sylvain’s hips, trying to draw him in further, desperate to fill himself more.

He’s only able to process that one thought: more, more, _ more_.

Heat boils and bursts under his skin again and again with no end in sight. Even when Sylvain reaches his own conclusion, giving him that burst of extra warmth inside, it doesn’t sate him the way it did last night.

As Sylvain pulls away and begins cleaning them both off with a wet cloth, Felix presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and groans loudly. Sylvain runs a hand up and down Felix’s flank.

“What’s up?”

"I'm still--"

“I mean… Give me a couple minutes, I’ll be good to go another round.”

“No, I—” Felix lets his hands fall, arms flopping to either side. "I need...something bigger...inside.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Like... a knot.” Felix closes his eyes and lets out a long breath, nodding.

"Yeah.” He says again, quieter.

"Oh. Um…" Sylvain’s face falls and he looks away. “I can’t--”

“I know.” Felix says softly. His eyes fall down to the mess they’ve made of Sylvain’s bed, guilt lapping at the back of his mind. All this for nothing. He should’ve known better than to think this would really be a viable solution. A dalliance at best.

But then Sylvain is between his legs, pressing against his thighs with his shoulders. 

“Hold on, here--” And he’s plunging four of his fingers into Felix’s hole, cum and slick oozing out over them. He works them in, all the way to his knuckles, and then he curls them. Felix cries out, his legs wrapping around Sylvain reflexively, trying to bring him closer.

“How’s that?”

Felix clenches around the fingers and hears a soft groan from Sylvain. It’s not exactly what his body wants, but it’s… enough.

It’s just enough.

“Yeah...yeah, this’ll work.” He says, letting his head roll back in relief.

“And we just stay like this for a while?”

He nods against the sheets. “Uh huh.” Sylvain leans his head against one of Felix’s thighs and then turns just enough to kiss it.

“Alright.”

Sylvain nestles his chin at the junction of Felix’s hip. He begins to stroke the swordsman from the inside, caressing with one of his knuckles in a way that makes Felix keen. As he does, he lazily runs his tongue along the length of Felix’s quivering member, leaving feather-light kisses all up the shaft. Felix flings a hand down, savagely catching in Sylvain’s hair.

“Too much?” Felix makes a strangled sound, unable to put together words. He pulls Sylvain's head closer to himself.

“Oh, more...?” Sylvain pushes the entirety of his tongue against the head of his cock, enveloping it in wet heat. Felix growls, ripping the cavalier’s head away and instead letting his hips stutter up into the empty air. 

“Ah ah ah, okay, got it. Shh... I’ve got you, babe, I got it.” Sylvain traces delicate shapes on the swordsman’s thigh with his tongue until Felix relaxes his grip enough for the redhead to settle back into place. “Just like this then. Okay.” While he resumes his ministrations, Felix absently combs his fingers through the short auburn locks, sighing in contentment.

\---

Eventually it reaches a breaking point where the bliss shatters, the singing becomes a screech and every touch is too rough, too sharp. He shoves at Sylvain's face with the heels of his hands.

"_Ah-- _ stop. Stop! Enough._" _ Sylvain pushes away easily, yielding to Felix's touch. He wiggles the fingers still inside Felix and asks,

"Even here?" 

Felix hisses, even as he's kicking lightly at Sylvain's back.

"_Yes_, yes, all of it!"

"Alright, alright, hold on." Sylvain gently rocks himself free, laying a kiss on Felix's thigh when he grunts in pain. As soon as they're separate, Felix is rolling over on his belly, shaking, turning his back on the world, trying to collect himself. Everything feels _ singed_, his edges all burnt out on stimulation, and now warring _too much_, _not enough_. Its like he is crumbling to ashes and he has no idea how to pack them together.

"Hey, you okay…?"

Felix doesn't answer, just curling tighter on himself, twisting his hands into the sheets.

Sylvain very carefully gets up on the bed behind him, crawling over to match up with the swordsman. He then lowers himself slowly, pressing down across the entirety of Felix's back. Sylvain folds around him, long legs tucking under Felix's, and arms circling around his front.

The shuddering stops.

"Shh… It's okay. I’ve got you for this too." Part of him wants to tell Sylvain off, but is too tired to talk. Another part wants to storm out, but is too tired to leave.

He presses back against Sylvain and feels the other man tighten around him. The sun is still too bright, but only just. It makes everything bleary and washed out, faded by the white-gold of morning. With Sylvain wrapped around him, it is warm - comfortable, even. He breathes deep, matching the even breaths he hears behind him.

A long time ago, when he had first presented, heats had more in common with a bout of intense illness than anything else. He'd been too young for them to be much else - presenting earlier than any of his peers. But even then, Dimitri had been willing to sit with him through the fevers and nausea and the - Goddess, the _ crying. _ He had ended up in Dimitri’s lap more than once, while the prince hushed him and petted his hair.

It had been sweet back then. Innocent.

Despite the backdrop scent of sex and the now ever present tension of ongoing war, there is something innocent to this too. He closes his eyes, and trades memories of pine for a different greenery, and phantom metal for musky linen.

It is enough.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving!  
This chapter is soft and warm, like mash potato, because I am a sappy romantic and I cannot deny my nature.

The window is cracked open, letting in the sound of the monastery bells as they ring, and Felix is bundled under the covers with his hands over his ears, plotting what spell will best render them irreparable.

Fuck bells. 

Fuck heightened senses, fuck heats, fuck the _ Goddess_, and _ FUCK _ whoever is cooking _ \-- _

He pokes his nose out from the twists of the blankets and sniffs the air. 

Okay, actually, whoever decided to fry the spicy sausage is alright by him.

Felix worms his head the rest of the way out, the static of wool against his hair dancing all the way down his spine. He tightens the blankets around him to tamp down on the restless sensitivity it sparks under his skin.

Sylvain, already dressed, is setting down a tray of food on the shelf nearest the bed. 

"...you brought breakfast?" Felix grumbles, bewildered. He tucks his chin back down into the blankets to hide that his mouth is watering. 

"Well...yeah? I wanted to make sure you ate something, after all that." Sylvain replies, equally bewildered. It takes Felix a moment to untangle the sheets around him enough to sit up - partially because he is pointedly not meet the other man's concerned gaze.

"It's not like I didn't bring my own food…"

Sylvain scoffs. "You brought _ field rations_, which - I'm pretty sure we can agree - hardly count as food."

His stomach twists silently, protesting its emptiness. Felix shrinks down into blankets, hiding more of his face as he feels a blush creep in. With the way Sylvain is _ doting _ he'll probably write it off as due to the heat rather than...whatever this feeling is.

"You didn't have to." He says, muffled by the blanket.

"Sure I did. What, did Dimitri not--?"

"Don't_ . _" 

"Felix…"

"_Don't_." Sylvain raises his hands in surrender and takes a large step back from both Felix and the food. Felix's attention shifts fully to the service tray, the promise of hot fresh food completely pushing the redhead out of his mind. On it is a plate of small sausages, several thick slices of bread, cut apples and soft cheese. He doesn't bother to check for utensils, opting just to use his hands.

He ends up just moving the whole tray into lap anyway.

As soon as he's eaten enough to think on more than one track, he begins to search the room for his bag. It's been tidied up since he was last awake - the soiled sheets and their shed clothes are nowhere to be seen.

"Where did you put my clothes?"

"Did you need to go somewhere?"

"...The _ war council meeting _ is today." Felix says slowly, in case Sylvain has lost track of his days.

"You don't have to go to that, you know. No one expects you to be working while you're in heat."

"It's fine, I can handle it."

"You shouldn't be pushing yourself so hard--"

"We're at _ war_, Sylvain. It's not going to _ wait _ for me, I have things to do!"

"So get someone else to do them! You should be _ resting_."

"I am NOT just going to lie around being USELESS just because of some bullshit broken biological clock." Sylvain frowns, brown eyes going dark.

"Felix, have you ever actually taken time for your _ whole _ heat?" Felix stuffs an entire sausage in his mouth and chews deliberately slowly. The silence between them stretches as Sylvain makes it clear he won't be changing the subject.

"...no." Felix finally answers. "I can't afford to; I never know how long they're going to be."

"That...can't be good for you."

"Don't lecture me." One side of Sylvain's mouth pinches, as though he is holding back what he wants to say.

"Alright." The redhead walks to the foot of the bed to start stripping the bed, as best as he can with Felix still sitting on it.

"Your bag is over here next to the clean linens. I'll take these sheets the laundry and let you get ready."

Felix wriggles around to let the sheets out from under him as Sylvain pulls. As he maneuvers the plate around to not lean into its contents, he sees that he has already eaten most of what had been there while Sylvain tended the room.

It had definitely been more than one servings worth.

He immediately stops chewing and holds out what's left in offering. Sylvain takes one look at the plate and laughs.

"Oh, no, that was all for you. I ate at the mess hall, before I brought it back."

Felix resumes chewing, but more slowly, picking at the bits that are left. The sound of wood against metal draws his attention to the door, where Sylvain is propping it open with his shoulder.

"So hey, listen…" He rebundles the sheets in his arms, adjusting his hold on them. "I know you said you don't like someone checking up on you… So if you need anything, I'm going to be at the stable all day other than the meeting. Okay?"

"Okay."

"And I'm not locking my room either. You can come back here if you need the space."

Felix sneers and doesn't mention that he has his _ own _ room, thank you, if he needs somewhere private. Sylvain shrugs with one shoulder.

"Just want you to have the option."

And then the door is closed, and Felix is alone.

He squirms to the foot of the bed to collect his bag from the floor. The supplies that Sylvain had collected had also been more neatly stacked. The wash basin has been relocated to the small vanity, and Felix could see that it was even filled with clean water. A bar of soap and some washcloths sit next to it. He turns to look back at the now empty serving tray. His skin feels too tight, like he is being compressed and twisted into a shape not meant for him.

It shouldn’t be so foreign, he reminds himself. These are expected courtesies and preparations.

Expected for most people, anyway.

He scowls at his own thoughts and tears his way out of the blankets still wrapped around him to wash. That exertion alone already has him panting and beginning to sweat, and he contemplates going all the way to the bathhouses again, but with the monastery now getting into the full swing of morning, privacy would be in short supply. He shakes his hair out of the messy plait he slept in and reties it in a loose tail.

The scent of Sylvain is still all over his hands.

He gets dressed without touching the soap.

\---

On any other day, Felix would have gotten an earlier start on his duties, but being as today was, he only just had enough time to collect the needed reports and documents. Everything else would have to wait until after the war council. Walking around the monastery grounds to collect them all takes him longer than usual, and leaves him winded and sweaty and sore. All things he can push through, without the unchecked arousal. He grits his teeth as he looks up the long staircase to the monastery’s third floor. He is already late.

When he gets to the top of the staircase, Sylvain is waiting around in the hallway. The cavalry man looks up at the sound of his footsteps and jogs to meet him, armor clinking and reverberating against the stone walls. Felix flinches away from the noise, and the motion causes Sylvain to switch to a stiff-legged lope keeping his armor as still as possible. 

He grins in greeting, but his nostrils flare as he gets closer and the smile falls away. Just as he opens his mouth to comment, Felix bares his teeth in warning. Slyvain’s mouth clicks shut. He opens it again to say, “We haven’t started yet.”

Unfortunately, that is the same time that Dimitri steps out of the council room to bark at Sylvain to come join them. He stomps down the hallway as though to physically collect the cavalryman, when he catches sight of Felix on the edge of his blindspot.

"Felix. We were wondering where--" Dimitri goes silent. His one eye jumps between the two of them. There is a subtle scent change that makes the pit of Felix's stomach drop. Sylvain shifts all his weight to one foot, putting his bulk in front of Felix, between him and the prince. Dimitri grabs at his right arm, clenching it. There is a groan of metal that physically breaks the tension in the air.

"Ah," He says. He then bares his teeth in what could generously be called a smile. "The rest of the council is ready to convene, if you are able to attend." He retreats, his first few steps fully backwards, his remaining eye on Felix. Sylvain does not move until the prince has disappeared around the corner into the council room and the heavy doors shut. He puts a hand at the small of Felix's back, touching with just fingertips.

"I hope this doesn't become a problem, with him."

Felix scoffs. "_ Everything _ is a problem with him." He mutters, swaying gently. Sylvain's hand presses more fully against his back.

"Woah, hey, you alright?"

"I'm _ fine _." His vision is beginning to swim. The scents of pine and steel and are overwhelming, as brief as Dimitri's presence was, but they are quickly being overpowered by the scent-memory of blood and battle. Even taking shallow breaths through his mouth doesn't offer any defense from it.

"Are you staying for the meeting?"

Did he want to listen to the boar prince rant about the emperor and trying to seize Enbarr? Goddess, no.

What he _ wants _ is to shove Dimitri against a wall, to drink in his fill of that scent, to bite him until he can taste the blood he's haunted by. He wants the kind of relief that only comes from being with his alp--.

Ah.

He needs to leave.

Immediately.

"No." He says firmly. It's as much of an admission as it is a command. Sylvain puts out an arm to herd him back down the stairs.

"Okay. C'mon, let's get you out of here."

It should have been fine.

He’s gone about his daily work during a heat before, _ it should have been FINE _.

Fuck heats. Fuck Sothis. What need was there for an afterlife punishment when someone was born an omega?

\---

Felix’s hand has a stranglehold on the furred rim of Sylvain’s shirt by the time they make it back to the old dorms. Sylvain is doing more of the work to keep him moving than Felix is - his knees keep buckling when he puts his whole weight on them.

“I could carry you, if you’d like.” Sylvain offers as they hobble up the final staircase one step at a time.

“No.”

“Sweep you up off your feet like a blushing bride--”

“_Shut up_.” Felix hisses at him. But he is already using his arms to support his weight against the redhead more than his legs, all but hanging off his broad shoulders. He doesn't protest when Sylvain grabs him by the hips to hold him up when they get to his door.

"Where's your key?"

"It's--" His mind goes blank as he searches his memory for where he put it that morning. "It's in my bag." 

"Bag? Do you have one? Did you leave it so-- _ oh_." Having his hand fisted in Sylvain's collar lets him feel the flash of heat that travels up the other man's neck before they lurch forward toward Sylvain’s door. Felix turns his face into the other man’s shoulder as they pass Dimitri’s door. And if maybe his feet don’t touch the ground at all for a few of those steps, he doesn’t plan on mentioning it.

Sylvain deposits him on the bed, catching Felix under the knees to lift him the rest of the way. Felix sags, his hands still on Sylvain to hold himself upright. The redhead puts his own hands on Felix’s cheeks trying to look him in the eye.

"Do you...do you want me to stay?"

"Don't…"

"Yeah, okay, alone time, got it." Sylvain goes to stand and Felix's hand tightens on the collar of his shirt and jerks him back down. Felix swallows dryly and tries again.

"Don't..._ leave… _" He unfurls his hand and lets it slide down to rest on the other man's chest. His fingers are shaking. "Please." 

Sylvain steps closer and tightly wraps both arms around Felix's shoulders, the weight of them counterbalancing the slight tremors.

"Yeah, okay, sure." Felix rests his forehead against the cool metal of the cavalryman's chestplate, gulping down air, trying to rid himself of the lingering scent memory of Dimitri.

Horses and leather and a different type of steel.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, his body chants. This is not where he should be. This is not who he should be with.

Sylvain's voice cuts into the drowning deep, low and smooth directly into his ear.

“What do you need, Felix?” He hooks his fingers around the plating of Sylvain's armor.

"Take this off." His voice is shaking now too. Sylvain takes one step back and begins undoing the buckles and ties keeping his armor in place, letting each piece drop to the ground without any care as to where or how it falls. Once it is all off, he reaches over his head to grabs two handfuls of shirt, pulling that off as well and flinging it to the side. He steps back in, arms held open in offering.

Felix wraps all four of his limbs around the taller man, crushing his nose flat into Sylvain's bare chest, breathing deep.

Crisp and dry with just a hint of spice - A whole world away from cold winters in Faerghus.

But even that is not enough to ground him again. He is still coming undone at the edges - sanity slipping through his fingers like fine sand. He clutches desperately at Sylvain’s back, scratching down his shoulders, anything to get a grip on what was _ here. _

There’s a hand in his hair, gently carding through the short tail. Sylvain’s lips brush against the top of his ear.

“What else?” Felix squeezes his eyes shut tighter, trying to think. He’s not in familiar territory anymore, in any sense of the word. Not the room, not the partner, and now not even his own body.

“I don’t know. This is…new.”

“O-oh… Okay…” Sylvain’s voice cracks a bit. “Is it-- do you want to…?” His hands wander down to Felix’s thighs.

“No, that’s not it.”

“Ah.” Sylvain’s hands quickly backtrack to sit at the shorter man’s waist. “Are you...heatsick maybe?”

Everything aches. He can’t tell the difference between cold and numb. He _ wishes _ he could be sick - maybe that would feel better.

But no, this isn’t heat sickness. He can’t put a name to it at all.

“I don’t know but I’m going to _ lose _ my _ mind _.”

“I can-- Do you want me to get Manuela?” Felix bears his teeth.

“Absolutely _ not_.” One of his hands darts up to tangle into bright copper curls, clawed against Sylvain’s scalp to anchor him in place. The idea of someone else seeing him like this is unbearable, but to be left alone is utterly unthinkable.

“Touch me.” He blurts out. Sylvain pulls away, frowning in confusion.

“I thought you said you didn’t--” Felix jerks him closer by the collar.

“My body is stupid and doesn’t know what it wants. I’m choosing. Touch me.”

Sylvain leans in, fingertips questing under Felix’s coat, leaving feather light touches on the skin of his stomach. He traces along the swordsman’s jaw with his mouth, lightly scraping with his teeth just under Felix’s ear. Felix makes a soft sound and Sylvain’s hands grow bolder, spreading up over his ribs. The familiar heat of arousal finally blooms under his skin, ribbons of it flowing out from Sylvain’s hands, things clicking together for the first time all day.

His own teeth dig into the meat of Sylvain’s shoulder and the cavalryman’s fingers dig in sharply as he surges forward, grinding their hips together. Felix adjusts his legs to hold them together, rolling his hips against Sylvain’s. The hands under his shirt move faster, beginning to strip him from the inside out. When their bare chests meet, Felix sighs in relief, melting in Sylvain's arms, wrapping himself around the taller man even tighter. Sylvain thumbs at his waistband.

"Keep going?"

"Yes… Saints, yes." Felix finds the strength to lift himself, leveraging with Sylvain’s shoulders so that the redhead can slid his pants off and push them both further back on the bed, crawling on top of him. Sylvain pins his legs apart and reaches one hand down to start stroking Felix’s half-hard member.

“Hm… Don’t think you’re quite ready.”

“Oh, fuck you.” Felix snarls as his back arches, and only mostly means it. Sylvain laughs.

“I’m working on it.”

Sylvain bobs his head down between Felix’s thighs to take his cock into his mouth for a few moments, wetting it and sucking gently to coax it the rest of the way to full hardness. 

“There you are gorgeous…” He says as he kisses the tip before pulling away completely, keeping his eyes locked on Felix's. A blush crackles across Felix's face.

One of Sylvain's hands goes back to working Felix's cock while the other slips down further to massage at his entrance, working the slick around.

“C’mon, open up for me. That’s it, good boy.” The praise pours over his skin like molten gold, a shiver following close behind. He clenches hard and forces himself to relax, letting Sylvain in deeper. The tiniest whine escapes him, and Sylvain's hand tightens around him, the redhead biting his lip.

"Felix…" Sylvain leans in, grinding his own erection against Felix's. "Goddess, Felix, you're so good-- everything about you… Can't wait to make you feel good.” Sylvain scissors his fingers as wide as they go, grinning at the obscene noise Felix’s body makes around them as he pulls them in and out. Felix is breathlessly grinding down on Sylvain’s fingers, his hips rolling between the other man’s hands.

“Then stop talking and _ do it_.” Sylvain kisses him on the shaft one more time before lining himself up pressing in with short little thrusts. Once he’s fully seated, he makes his way up Felix’s body with his mouth, leaving a trail of kisses until he and the swordsman are face to face.

“‘M gonna go slow this time.” He murmurs, nipping at Felix’s ear.

“Think you can last this time?” Sylvain answers by dragging his teeth along Felix’s neck, taking a generous mouthful and sucking deeply, pulsing the suction in time with his languid thrusts. Every inch of Felix shudders as he drowns in the pleasure of it. Above him, Sylvain laughs softly.

“Can _ you_?” The words are flint and steel, sparking a different need behind his sternum. Felix smiles, all teeth.

“Try me.”

\---

Sylvain makes good on his promise, devoting himself to exploring Felix’s body with his mouth while keeping steady time with his hips. Every one of Felix’s nerve endings are sparking - he can’t make sense of where all his limbs are. He can only distinguish what part Sylvain is currently lavishing with his attention. The heat inside him has reached a plateau, a constant and contained roar. No demand of _ more _, no drive to keep climbing up and up in intensity - just consistent pleasure for him to sink into.

Sylvain’s quiet litany of dirty compliments peters off into harsh pants. His voice cracks when he speaks again.

“Felix, I’m--” Felix hikes a leg around the back of Sylvain’s thigh for support - he’s been getting increasingly unsteady.

“Yeah.” It’s all the encouragement Sylvain needs. He buries himself in Felix, arms encircling the other man to steady himself through the last few tremors of his release. When he’s done, he sluggishly props himself up on his elbows to look at Felix.

“Do you need…?” Felix looks up into the unfocused and sleepy brown eyes and smirks a little.

“Not this time.” 

“Okay.” Sylvain slumps off to the side, laying one arm across Felix’s chest once he hits the mattress. “Okay, cool. I’m just… I’m just gonna...take a break. For a second.” Felix rolls over in Sylvain’s arms to face him. He is bright and awake and full of fire, not at all wanting to sleep. But Sylvain is already snoring softly beside him, taking his own much needed rest. Felix tucks his head under Sylvain’s chin and breaths him in - the herby scent is welcoming and steady. Not quite like coming home, but a place he wants to linger. He indulges in licking a stripe up the column of Sylvain’s unguarded throat.

The taste is better than anything he’s eaten all day. 

He contents himself with leaving marks along Sylvain’s collarbone while he waits for the redhead to wake up.

\---

Felix stays in Sylvain’s room for three more days.

It’s not the longest heat he’s had, but perhaps the most unorthodox. Any time when Felix starts to lose himself to the cold fog of that nameless longing, Sylvain is quick to stoke a fire to guide him back, pressing as much of their skin together as he can manage, leaving branding kisses wherever he can reach.

Sylvain tends to both their needs: clean sheets, bathing, fresh water, hot food. He only ever does one task at a time, fretting over Felix inbetween. Whenever Felix shoves him away, sick of the doting, he makes a joke about ‘propriety’ and ‘being a gentleman’, but always finds something else to busy himself with to give Felix a bit of space without leaving him alone.

On that third morning, Felix is up before Sylvain and takes a moment to himself on the edge of the bed. There are birds outside, greeting the sun. Sylvain had been diligent in opening and closing the window to keep the air fresh, so when Felix takes a deep breath he doesn’t choke on sex drenched musk. He slides off the bed and pads over to the vanity, taking stock of himself in the mirror. Sore, but pleasantly so. No scratches or blood under his nails. A smattering of love bite bruises, but none of them ringed with tooth marks. He catches sight of his own face. No bags under his eyes for once. And--

And not angry.

He feels...whole. At peace. No chipped shoulders or carved in scowls. He looks over at Sylvain’s still sleeping form, a mess of long limbs and unkept copper curls.

He allows himself a small smile and sets to work in combing out the tangles in his own hair.

Though he tries to keep it quiet, Sylvain inevitably wakes up when he notices the emptiness of his bed by rolling into the cold space Felix has left behind. He sits up and groggily turns his head, searching the room through closed eyes. Felix purposely knocks the comb against the washbasin as he sets it down on the vanity and Sylvain homes in on the sound. The redhead mumbles some noises and crawls off the bed, teetering dangerously as he scrubs his eyes and yawns. His eyes are only just now opening, but Sylvain finds his way to the vanity and stands behind the shorter man.

He pulls Felix’s head toward him in what has become his own greeting ritual, pressing his nose to Felix’s temple and breathing in.

“Different today.” He comments, reaching around Felix to dunk his hand in the wash basin and run the water through is hair.

“Yeah.” Felix takes the hair tie out of his mouth. “I’m gonna go back to my room.” It takes a moment for his words to register with Sylvain, who blinks at their shared reflection a few times.

“Oh! Is that it then?”

“That’s it.” Felix finishes tying up his hair and adjusts his bangs in the mirror. Sylvain sighs dramatically and drapes himself over Felix’s shoulders.

“Oh man, are they _ all _like that?” Felix is feeling charitable and doesn’t shrug him off.

“No,” He answers, thinking of the unusual reactions. But then, just to tease, he adds, “Sometimes they’re hard.” Sylvain blinks at him in surprise. Then he is tilting his head back and laughing - a smooth, rich sound, a different kind of warm than what Felix has had woven into his person for the past several days.

"So this was an easy one, was it?"

"It was... tame." Sylvain laughs again and thumps Felix on the back.

"Tame. Sure."

Felix opens the door and stands there, looking out into the empty hallway. He turns back.

“Sylvain.” The cavalryman looks up from where he is stripping the sheets one last time. He looks more haggard than Felix did, first waking up, but his eyes are bright and alert, ready for whatever may be coming.

“Thank you.” And then the redhead is beaming, all signs of fatigue erased by the force of his smile.

“Yeah, of course!” A flicker of warmth starts in the pit of Felix’s stomach, completely unrelated to heats. He steps out and closes the door quietly behind him, and when he walks to his own room, he doesn’t even glance at Dimitri’s door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell with me on Twitter! @jk_rts


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, I am on a r o l l with this fic, 2 chapters less than a week apart? Whaaat?
> 
> I think I have an idea of how much is left, but I won't update that chapter count until I'm sure.  
Enjoy~

It is easy enough to fall back into the routine of the monastery after his latest heat. The monks and soldiers go out of their way to avoid him, but the looks on their faces are more ones of surprise than anything else. When he makes it to the kitchen to make up his missed duties, he finds Mercedes heading the chaos. At first she too is shocked to see him, but it quickly breaks into a warm smile. She takes his hands in greeting, squeezing them gently.

“It’s so good to see you, Felix! You’re looking well.” Were it anyone else other than Mercedes he would have yanked his hands away. But because it is her, he squeezes back and gives her a tight smile.

“It’s not like I went anywhere.”

“All the same, it is good to see you. Can you take these baskets to the greenhouse and fill them with vegetables for me please? We’ll need your skill with a blade to chop everything once you come back.”

\---

The greenhouse resonates with song when he walks through the doors. Annette is dancing back and forth, singing to each vegetable in turn as she pulls it out of the ground and scrapes off the dirt before depositing it in her own basket. He sets the empty baskets beside her partially filled one and stands back to watch for a bit. The short mage is caught up in a dramatic twirl with a carrot when she catches sight of him.

“Bwahh!!” She drops the carrot, the air around her snaps with the charge of a spell for just a moment before registering who she’s with. She dissipates it with a stomp of her foot, looking petulant. “Felix, you scared me! I thought we agreed you wouldn’t spy on me singing anymore!”

“I’m not _ spying_,” He insists, kneeling beside one of the vegetable beds. “I’m here to help.”

“Oh! Are you back on kitchen duty today?”

“Certainly seems to be the case, doesn’t it.” Annette stares at him a moment and then she throws her arms around him in a hug.

"Annette...what are you doing?" She pops off him as quickly as she had glommed on.

"Right! Sorry. Forgot you're not touchy." She clears her throat and tucks some stray hairs behind her ears before kneeling next to him a full arm's distance away.

"I'm just...happy for you, is all." She says, after a few moments. "It's nice to see you like this." Felix pauses mid-pull to look at her.

"Like _ wh_\--?"

"OH, do you want to hear my new song?" Annette is then belting a new tune, leaving him no chance to finish his question.

\---

Felix carts the full baskets back to the kitchen, and after the first two, Mercedes sits him down to start peeling and chopping. Because the kitchen is bustling, she has him sitting in a corner of the mess hall.

A familiar laugh has him look up. Sylvain passes by, chatting with Ingrid, gesturing expansively and leaning into her space as he tells some story. She rolls her eyes and bats his hand away. He laughs again, pulling out that easy, comfortable smile and he circles around her, putting his back to Felix. Ingrid changes course to walk away, and Sylvain follows, not once so much as glancing in Felix's direction.

He doesn’t know why that hurts.

\---

Gilbert does not treat him any differently, thankfully. He gets a summary of what he missed at the council meeting and what plans have been laid. It is direct and impersonal and efficient - as he feels business should be.

Felix is sitting on the steps in front of the housing block, writing a dummy letter to his father about a false rendezvous far from Ailell when Byleth glides over and perches above him.

"Professor," he greets without looking. After a few moments of silence, he flicks his eyes up. "Did you...need something...?"

Byleth has their head settled in one palm, elbow propped up on the divider wall. They are staring, cold sea glass eyes calm and serene.

"He's better for you, you know." Felix almost snaps the tip off his quill, his fears caught up with him.

"What?"

"Sylvain." And the name is like a song, compared to what he expected. The thundering of his heart quiets almost as quickly as it started. He's not sure that's any better.

"You recover faster." Byleth adds, by way of explanation. Felix looks back down, busies himself with inspecting the tip of his quill for damage.

"I...hadn't noticed." It’s not entirely a lie. Byleth hums at him, but gathers themselves up and sweeps away without another word.

\---

The rest of the month passes without much incident. Even the long march eastward happens without interruption - all according to plan.

But in the heat of Ailell, Felix finds his patience running thinner than usual. A combination of knowing they are here to meet his father and most of the army’s incessant whining about the temperature has left him with a shorter supply to begin with. He stands as far away from the group as the professor will allow, looking out over the desolate, fiery landscape. Mercedes picks her way through the uneven rocks to stand beside him. She has partially unbuttoned her blouse, her sleeves rolled up and her veil tucked under her hat.

“Nothing we omegas aren’t used to, right?” She says with a kind smile. Felix huffs a laugh. He has his own jacket undone and his gloves tucked into his belt, but as oppressive as the heavy dry air is, he has felt worse inside his own skin. He doesn’t follow up, and she doesn’t press him to.

It is the only respite he gets in the Valley of Torment.

\---

Once Dimitri has run Gwendol through on his lance, the splattered blood sizzling on the ground, it is the smell that begins to claw at him far more than the heat. He leaves the clean-up of the battlefield to the Kingdom soldiers. As he passes by, his father offers some perfunctory words of congratulations for assisting the lost prince, but Felix waves him off and stalks away, not staying to listen to any updates about Cornelia.

Mercedes is at the back of the field, tending to their wounded. It only takes her a single look to know to direct him toward a quiet rocky outcropping, well away from the triage lines.

From there, the sulfur is more overpowering than anything else.

Sylvain finds him and comes just close enough to drape an extra waterskin over his shoulder. Felix tries to shove him away, not flinching when his bare hand presses into the overheated metal of the cavalier's armor.

“I don’t--”

“Just take it, Felix.” Felix turns to scowl at him but Sylvain is already walking away. He instead transfers the scowl down to his scalded hand, pressing one of the more painful bits to his mouth. The taste of hot steel and raw skin turns his stomach.

\---

They are not even back at Garreg Mach a full day before Felix is leaning on Sylvain’s door, clutching at himself and heaving breaths. The redhead ushers him inside almost as soon as he opens the door, and Felix takes a moment to rest against the wall while he locks the door behind them. Sylvain gently places his hands on the shorter man’s elbows, plenty of space left between them. Felix takes Sylvain’s hands and immediately shoves them under his shirt, groaning at the contact. Sylvain steps closer, pressing one thigh between Felix’s as his hands roam upward, spreading over Felix’s chest, thumbing at his nipples. Felix lets his head thunk back against the wall, his mouth hanging open in silent pleasure.

“Did you know?” He gasps. “At Ailell.”

“I had a hunch,” Sylvain answers, nosing at his jawline. "About the stress." The way Sylvain is kissing at his neck conveniently puts Felix’s mouth level with the redhead’s ear, and he snaps his teeth at it, growling.

"I'm not _ delicate_." There is a dark chuckle right against his skin.

“No, you’re not.”

Sylvain drops his hands to grab Felix under the knees, surging up to pin the shorter man against the wall. One hand takes a generous hold of Felix’s ass while the other snakes back up under his shirt, short nails scrabbling for purchase along his back. Felix rolls his hips against the heat and pressure of Sylvain’s whole body weighing down on them. The friction is ecstasy, a bellows to the fire in his belly, but he knows it won’t be enough. Both his hands cling to Sylvain’s hair, yanking him back from where he is valiantly trying to get at Felix’s chest through the open laces of his sleep shirt.

“Let me take my shirt off, you _ lout_.” 

Sylvain growls quietly, pressing his face to the triangle of exposed skin, but pulls back enough to let Felix peel the shirt up and over his shoulders. Sylvain catches the hem of it in his teeth, tugging on it jokingly.

Felix wads up the rest of it and shoves it in the redhead’s face, leaving it to obscure his whole head. Sylvain shakes it off, laugh muffled by the fabric. When he’s free of it, he gazes up at Felix, face flushed and eyes hazy.

“Saints, Felix… you smell _ so _good… Could breathe you in all day…" He nuzzles at Felix's bare chest. "'Specially when you're in heat...so woody and sweet and rich...Just wanna eat you up." He drags his tongue along the outline of Felix's pectoral, teasing at his nipple with little flicks until taking the whole bud into his mouth and sucking. Felix claws through Sylvain's hair.

"Ugh, do you _ ever _ stop talking?" Sylvain blinks up at him, the lust darkening his eyes clearing up a bit.

"Huh?"

"Are you just going to keep _ gushing _ or are you going to get me off?"

"Oh! Shit-- Goddess, I'm sorry. It just-- comes out. I-- I can stop if you want me too."

Felix closes his eyes and thinks back to other heats. To marathons without a single word spoken, to empty rooms echoing only his own cries. He opens them again to Sylvain's earnest face, waiting for an answer. To the reassuring solidness of his arms, holding him up.

"No, it-- it's fine." _ I like it_. "Don't worry about it." He can't tell if he's blushing any harder, but an extra ruddiness is mottling Sylvain's cheeks.

"Well now I can't think of anything to say…" Sylvain murmurs, looking away sheepishly.

“Well if you're _ done_, put me down. The wall's not comfortable.” Sylvain huffs - almost a laugh - and tucks his head under Felix's chin to hold him against the wall with his full weight. His hands slide down, supporting Felix's thighs as he's lowered back to stand on his own. 

Felix shuffles over to the bed, pants uncomfortably wet with slick. He begins to peel them off, pausing to make a face at how they cling to his thighs. Sylvain comes up behind him, placing his hands over Felix's, fitting his thumbs into the waistband.

"I mean it," he says, guiding Felix's pants down. "I can't get enough of it. I want you all over my bed." He takes a step forward, bumping his clothed erection against Felix's rear. He lays his hands on Felix's now bare hips, mouth hovering just above his ear. "I want to drench my sheets with you."

Felix shudders, placing his hands on the edge of the bed to brace himself. Sylvain presses closer, his hands snaking down to grasp loosely at Felix's member. He strokes lightly with his thumb along the length, while the other cradles his balls. 

"Want to lay you out, have you crying for it." Sylvain's voice is getting gravelly, his breaths heavy. 

Felix arches his back and growls. "_Sylvain_." 

"Too much?"

"Stop fucking _ teasing._" He takes the shell of Felix's ear between his teeth, a laugh low in his chest, rumbling into Felix.

"Anything for you, babe." Felix clings to the sheets, sprawling over the cool cloth while Sylvain strips behind him. He arches up hungrily as a hand sweeps over his back, and when the cavalier’s arms close around him, the touch of skin is just as searing as any metal left in Ailell.The first push in after Sylvain has lined them up is _ heavenly_. Felix lets his head hang between his shoulders as he moans, dropping his hips to spread his legs wider and give better access. He wants to push back, drive Sylvain deeper, hold him there, but he can’t gain enough purchase to leverage himself. The wall and the floor seem too far away, impossible to reach - He’s already stretched too thin, too tightly wound, too close to snapping, to stretch out and brace himself on them.

“Felix...you remember the first time we did this?” Sylvain pants, dragging his nails down Felix’s chest. “I said you’d be so wet for me you wouldn’t know what to do…And look at you now.” He fists one hand in Felix’s hair to hold him steady while he rakes his teeth over the back of the swordsman's neck, sporadically sucking harsh dark bruises. “So hot and slick and open. Such a good boy for me.”

There’s nothing but the obscene sound of Sylvain thrusting in and out of him, and then barely a whisper in his ear, “Come for me.” 

Everything goes white, and Felix doesn’t have a single coherent thought the rest of the night.

\---

Perhaps it is the same luck that has kept him from accidentally running into Dimitri during his recent heats that brings Felix the misfortune of instead crossing paths with his father when he decides he needs some fresh air and to stretch his legs. 

He turns a corner out of the gardens and bodily runs into the man, their foreheads cracking together.

“Oh, son of a--!”

“_Saints_, that smarts… Felix?” He may be in the tail end of his heat, but the voice turns all his blood cold. He does his best to put on a neutral face.

“Hello Father.”

“I’ve hardly seen you since we arrived, are you--” Felix watches as the pieces click into place for his father based on what he must have inevitably caught wind of when they bumped into one another. It is a monumental effort not to roll his eyes.

“Oh! Of course, you’ve been, ah, busy." Rodrigue's nose flares as he checks the air again. "But you...are you...not spending this one with His Highness?” Felix scowls and takes a half step back to prevent his father from scenting him further. His shoulders pull up in anger just as much as to hide the bruises peeking out from under his shirt.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Have you found another alpha then? It’s certainly not the Galatea girl; her father would’ve said something by now if the two of you--”

“What part of ‘_none of your business’ _ do you not understand, old man?”

“It’s a _ bit _ of my business, knowing who’s tending my son. His Highness was your partner for _ years_\--”

“The boar and I are _ not _ ‘partners’, and we _ never have _ been.”

“But you were so close when you were younger! And during all that time when you thought he was lost you were--” Felix lunges forward to jab his father in the chest, teeth bared.

“Don’t you _ dare _ tell me how I felt. _ Don’t. You. _ ** _Dare_**_. _ How would you even know, huh? You were never around for any of my heats, even when I first presented!”

“Felix--”

“No! It’s _ nobody’s _ fucking business who I spend my heats with, but _ especially _ not yours. You want to know who’s tending your _ son_? Why don’t you go fucking ask _ His Highness _ how’s _ he’s _ been.” He spins on his heel and begins to storm away. 

“_Felix-_-” A hand comes down on his shoulder and he violently shrugs it off.

“_Stay away _ from me.”

\---

He ignores returning to the room and instead storms all the way to the armory in search of the one person he _ does _want to see.

"Sylvain." He barks, and the redhead looks up. He smiles as Felix approaches, easy and bright and warm.

"Hey there Felix, what's happening?" Felix stops when he's right up in Sylvain's space - close enough to make anyone else uncomfortable. The smile never wavers, even as Felix is frowning, harsh brown eyes boring into their softer compatriots. It only disappears when Felix thunks his forehead firmly against the other man's collarbone.

"O-oh!" Sylvain’s hands both jump up and hover uncertainly. "Uh… did you...do you need us to go somewhere...private?"

"_No_\--" Felix snaps as he begins to wrench away. But he freezes. Sighs. Unhooks the corners of his mouth from the snarl they had naturally fallen in to.

He rests his head back on Sylvain's shoulder, this time leaning into the taller man.

"...no." He says again, this time in a whisper.

Sylvain responds softly with just, "Okay." And then one hand rests lightly on Felix's shoulder blade, the other ghosting over his hair. 

Felix makes a small broken noise, taking a half-step forward to push his full weight against Sylvain. 

The redhead's feet shuffle, his stance changing to support them both and resetling his arms.

“Everything okay…?”

Felix heaves a sigh. “No.” He is relieved when Sylvain does not ask him to elaborate. Relieved enough to offer up, “But it’s better. Here.” He turns his face against the cavalier’s armor, feels the smooth steel against his lips as he breathes out, “With you.” 

The arms around him tighten slowly. And if what he feels at his temple is a kiss, he doesn’t call Sylvain out on it.

\--- 

He stays in Sylvain’s room one more night, because Sylvain doesn’t shoo him out. But sharing the bed with him that night feels cramped and uncomfortably hot and he can’t sleep, so he rolls off the bed, throws on some clothes, and takes to the monastery grounds. He doesn’t have a destination in mind, just takes whatever path is longest.

He ends up crossing the bridge to the cathedral, the long walk doing nothing to curb his restless energy. The boar is not present, for once, leaving the area nearest the alter unoccupied. He stomps right up to the pile of rubble cascading down from the collapsed corner and picks up the first rock that fits his hand, throwing it at the towering stained glass window depicting all the Hero’s Crests. What few monks were still about in the eaves quietly leave as he throws rock after rock.

He is alone with his aimless rage for a long while. The moon sets, and were it not for the hole in the ceiling, the cathedral would be completely dark.

A gentle, even voice breaks the stillness of the sanctuary.

“Railing against the Goddess, are we?” Felix is startled into chucking the rock he’s holding. There is a satisfying cracking sound from the thick glass. He turns to face the professor, too surprised to even feel guilty. But then, to his further surprise, Byleth joins him, selecting a small bit of rubble from the ground and flinging it, neatly pinging off the center of the crest of Seiros. A bit of the tension in his shoulders dissipates in their presence. 

“Didn’t think you one for blasphemy, Professor.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.” They root around for another small rock and throw that one too, hitting square in the center of a hero’s crest. “And what brings us here today?” 

Felix finds a hefty bit of stone and hurls it at the all too familiar crest of Fraldarius on the window, the same crest that activates behind him and gives him an extra rush of strength. He’s on target - the decorative glass spider-webbing from the impact. The Goddess’s sense of humor at work.

“_Fuck _ bloodlines.” He pants, stretching out his shoulder. Byleth throws another rock, dead center again on Seiros.

“Your father.” They guess successfully. Felix doesn’t feel the need to confirm it, so he finds a new stone and throws again. He is wide of the mark this time, and the stone clatters against the wall and tumbles down the rubble pile. Byleth takes their turn, pinging a small stone off of Fraldarius as well.

“But not just your father.” Felix releases the stone in his hand, but at the wrong time. The throw is weak and the projectile doesn’t even make it to the window. He finds another one, and chucks it just as poorly.

“Sometimes,” says Byleth, scoring a third hit on Seiros, “A breath is more powerful than a blow.” Felix considers the stone in his hand, flipping it between his palms. He scowls at it.

“Yeah? What’s that supposed to mean?” There’s more purpose in his throw this time. It doesn’t hit a crest in the window, but he’s no longer aiming to. 

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Byleth says. There’s a tink from the glass as Byleth hits the saint’s crest again. “But I think you’re past the point where throwing rocks will help.” Felix heaves one last throw, as hard as he can. He hates that they’re right. He hates how well his former teacher can read him without even looking. He kicks some other rubble aside to clear the ground and lowers himself onto it, crossing his arms over the tops of his knees. 

“What do you--” he starts. Bites his tongue. There’s a tink from the window. “How do you unlearn an instinct?”

“You don’t.” Another rock, another hit. “You learn over them. But they’ll always be there, down at the core of you. That’s what makes them instincts.”

It's not at all what he wanted to hear. Felix rests his chin on his crossed arms, staring hard at the edges of the rubble in front of him.

“How long does it take to learn over them?”

“Depends. Sometimes you never quite do.” Felix shifts his gaze to glare at the former mercenary, whose blank face is focused on window.

“You’re real helpful, Professor.” He says flatly.

“I try.” They seem unbothered by his tone. But then, they seem unbothered by most things.

There is one last tink, and then a crunching. Felix glances over to see Byleth clear a space of their own on the floor to sit beside him.

“You look like you want to say something.” They say after a while. And like a popped bubble, the words burst out of him.

“It’s stupid.”

“Yeah?” Byleth prompts gently. “What is?”

“It’s stupid that I can’t convince my body to agree with my mind. That shouldn’t be how it works.”

“That’s because you’re a man of reason, Felix.” He rolls his eyes at that.

“Of course I am. What other kind is there to be?”

“Some people are more willing to take things on faith.”

“Tch. Look where faith’s gotten us.” He gestures disdainfully at the ruined cathedral around them. Byleth hums, tilting their face up toward the night sky.

“It brought us all here, didn’t it? For the reunion?”

“Hmph.” The former mercenary levels him a look.

“It also brought you somewhere else, when you needed someone. Your reasoning said something different than where you ended up.” He clenches his fingers tightly in his sleeves.

“That wasn’t faith, it was a risk.”

“Call it what you will. But you made a choice. Isn’t that what matters, in the end?” Felix pulls his knees tighter to his chest and tucks his face into his elbow.

“I don’t know,” he says finally. Byleth reaches out and pats him on the back.

“That’s fine. You don’t have to.”

They sit on the cathedral floor until dawn, when the monks return to set up for the morning service. Byleth walks him back to the dorms, seeing him to the stairs before leaving for their own chambers.

Felix passes his own door without thinking, going directly into Sylvain’s room. The redhead is still sound asleep, his long limbs splayed all over the bed. Felix collapses into the empty space between them, not even bothering to undress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel personally wronged the convection physics of Ailell, so lets all just agree not to talk about it.
> 
> But you can come yell with me on Twitter anyway, @jk_rts


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to preface this by saying I'm halfway done with the next chapter at the time this is being posted, so I'm not TOO sorry.

The next time Felix gets a roiling in his gut and starts sweating when he shouldn’t be, the first thing he finds is a calendar.

He flips it back to the previous month and finds the date of the planned rendezvous in Ailell, then flips forward to the current date. His eyebrows go up of their own accord.

Exactly 4 weeks.

Huh. 

And then he scowls at the date - they leave for the Great Bridge in three days time. It’s only an inkling, not even truly started, and he can’t afford to be out of commission for long. But there’s nothing to be done for it now. He’ll just have to...hope.

Ugh.

Awareness of it doesn't once leave his mind the whole day. The low, simmering intensity is enough that he should have been able to forget about it, but the timing keeps it at the forefront of his thoughts, the unheard tick-tock of a phantom clock keeping rhythm with every beat of his heart.

When he finally finishes his work for the day as best as he can manage with the distraction, he is grateful to make it back to his room.

Or, he thought he would be.

He lets the door fall open as he stands in his own entryway, looking over the utilitarian space. Normally, he takes comfort in the minimalism of it - open and organized and easy to collect his thoughts in. But today it feels… too big. Too still.

The dying light of the afternoon that streams in through the window is warm and golden, but the room still feels cold. He steps backward and re-locks his door.

He finds himself ten feet down the hall, outside Sylvain’s room. He goes to knock and the door swings open after the first rap of his knuckles. He leans his head past the frame to peer inside.

Sylvain is in the middle of securing the corner of the sheets on his bed. He is wearing only his pants and even those are hanging loosely at his hips, the fastenings undone. There is a neat stockpile of fresh linens at the foot of his bed again. Felix steps fully into the room, pushing the door all the way open so that it thumps against the wall, causing the cavalier to look up.

“Were you...expecting me?” 

Sylvain’s free hand goes up to scrub through his already messy hair as he gestures vaguely with the pillowcase in the other.

“Kind of? I mean, I was just sort of...guesstimating, y’know? It was about this long between your last two heats, and I didn’t want to h-have to leave you uh, alone again.” The smooth-talker tripping over his words does not escape Felix’s notice. He narrows his eyes, surveying him, but this time it is Sylvain who avoids his gaze, focusing on the fabric in his hands as he worries it between his fingers.

Felix considers giving him some small reassurance, like voicing his appreciation or even saying 'You were right', but only for a moment. Instead, he tilts his chin down, offering his head. Sylvain reaches out to cup the back of it, fingers slotting around where his hair is tied and presses his own face to the crown of Felix’s head. Felix breathes in at the same time, matching the whole breath beat for beat. Sylvain straightens, but leaves his hand on the back of Felix’s head, stroking his hair with his thumb.

“Soon, huh?”

Felix shrugs one shoulder, looking away. “By morning, probably.” Sylvain turns back to his task, taking up a bare pillow to stuff in its new covering.

“You wanna stay the night, just in case?” He says, shaking the pillow into place. “The bed’s even been freshly changed!”

Felix doesn’t reply, opting to just sit on the bed by way of answer and take off his boots. He smiles with the side of his mouth that doesn’t face Sylvain.

The redhead steps away from the bed, folding up the last of the blankets and draping them over his desk instead. He moves a small wooden chest to make room for them and holds on to it.

“So I stopped in with Manuela after last time and got a couple things, actually.” Felix’s mouth hangs open in wordless indignation.

"You _ what_."

He shouldn't be upset. After all, it's not as though Manuela hasn't known Felix is an omega for years, or that his heats were inconsistent.

"Oh, don't worry; I told her I had met this beta girl who really wanted--"

"Augh! _ Saints_, Sylvain, _ stop. _I don't need to hear the whole thing." They hadn't been really trying to keep this whole thing a secret, but knowing Sylvain still at least made an effort to protect his privacy is...endearing.

But to think of Sylvain seeing someone else on the side, even if its a lie… he is glad it has been hours since he last ate.

Felix shuffles back on the bed, pulling his knees up in front of him and pressing his back against the cool stone. Inside him is all different kinds of hot and he doesn't like any of them.

Sylvain waits for him to settle before holding up the little chest.

"Did you want to see what I got?"

Felix crosses his arms over his knees and rests his chin in the crook of one elbow. "Fine," he grumbles.

Sylvain climbs onto the bed beside him, crossing his legs and tucking the chest into his lap as he opens it.

"So most of these are for me, actually. Like to help me last longer--" He begins to lay things out on the bed in the space between them. There is a small corked bottle containing some long stiff leaves, a packet of waxed paper tied with a string, and a small porcelain jar. He holds up a small ring of stiff leather cord.

“Self explanatory.” He says with a wink, before returning it to the box. “But here’s the ones I think you’ll appreciate.” Sylvain holds out one hand. On it is an oblong lump the color of putty.

“I know I’m not-- I can’t knot you, like, _ properly… _So this is a false knot that I can wear! I know it’s not quite the same, but Manuela said she’s been on the other end of some of these and that they really feel--“

Felix quickly cuts him off. “I _ do not _ need to know that.” Curiosity gets the better of him and he takes the lump from Sylvain, turning it over and over in his hands. It’s surprisingly smooth and shockingly heavy for its size. “What’s this made of?”

“Some kind of cured tree sap from Almyra. It’s stretchy.” Felix pulls at the openings and makes a faint noise, impressed. It does indeed stretch, if with some difficulty. The dense curves of it don’t have much give. Felix doesn’t imagine it would be comfortable to wear. He hands it back to Sylvain.

“And if that turns out to...to not be enough, or like… feels wrong or whatever... She also gave me a few other false knots in other sizes.” Sylvain scoops out the last of the chest in both hands and holds them out for Felix to examine. There is a selection of bulbous, phallic shapes rendered in metal and glass. Felix feels the blush in his hands more than his face, as his palms suddenly get _ very _ sweaty. He rubs them against his pant legs and looks away, discreetly clearing his throat.

“We don’t have to use any of them, if you don’t want to.” Sylvain says hurriedly. The contents in his hands clink as he rushes to dump them back in the chest. “Just, y’know. So you know. They’re here.” Apparently there isn’t quite enough room in the chest for all the items to be haphazardly arranged, because Sylvain frowns down at it, the crease between his brows deepening as he tries to make them all fit again.

Felix looks down at the other items still on the bed and picks up the corked bottle. There is a tag tied to the neck of it with ‘Magdred Kirsch’ written in Manuela’s thin looping scrawl.

“What are these?”

Sylvain squints at the bottle in his hand. “Uhh… an... energy booster I think? She said they work better as a tea, but you can just eat the leaf too. They’re supposed to really ‘pep you up’ and give you better stamina.”

Felix replaced the bottle and picks up the packet, turning it around to look from all sides. “What about this?”

“That’s uh,” Syvain actually blushes “Those are some special tablets she made for me. They...reduce the down time. Y’know. In between.” Felix quirks an eyebrow at him, and sets the packet next to the bottle of leaves. He points to the porcelain jar.

“And this?”

“A really mild numbing salve. Can’t come if I can’t feel it.”

"You're...willing to do that?”

“Well yeah, I-- I want to be helpful.” This, Felix knows, is not standard courtesy. No such alternative options were covered in their etiquette classes. He does not remember the room being as hot as it is now when he entered. He is still absently rubbing his hands over his thighs, trying to dry his palms.

“You don’t need to go to this much trouble.”

Sylvain laughs. "Uh, Felix, I don't know if you noticed, but I am _ definitely _ getting something out of this. It’s no _ trouble_; It's not like tending your heats is a _ chore_." He has finally gotten the chest rearranged enough to accommodate those last few prescriptions, so he collects them all and closes the chest before hopping off the bed to place it back on his desk. Felix begins undoing his jacket

“Sylvain?” He asks quietly.

“Yeah?” 

“Maybe...bring that back over here.” His legs are falling open as he slumps more against the wall. Across the room, he can see Sylvain’s eyes darken.

“_Oh_.” The redhead climbs back onto the bed, crawling to sit between Felix’s legs. He cradles Felix’s head again as he presses his nose to the swordsman’s temple.

“Your scent hasn’t changed - I think it’s just a hot flash.”

“Y-yeah, cause that’s--” He swallows thickly, whole mouth dry. “That’s _ so _ much better.”

“Hey, come on, deep breaths. It’s okay, just breath.” Sylvain leads by example with long exaggerated breaths, encouraging Felix to match him. The heat picks away at him, eating him in furling layers. He has no doubt that when all the edges meet he’ll fully lapse into his cycle.

When Felix is finally breathing in perfect sync with Sylvain, the redhead leans in to bump their foreheads together.

“Tell me what you need.”

“I want…” _ You_. _ I want _ ** _you_**_. _ “Someth’n cold. ‘S too hot...”

“You got it.” Sylvain comes back with a damp washcloth that he drapes over the back of Felix’s neck. The contrast to his skin is like ice, and he gasps, his breath turning to short little pants.

“_Breathe_, Felix.”

“I _know_.” He growls, taking a newly shaky breath. “I know.”

“Relax and just let it hit. I’m here, I’ve got you.” Felix lets one hand fall into the cavalier’s lap, fisting it in the loosened folds of his pants. He takes another deep breath, steadier this time. Breaths out.

“I know.”

\---

They sit together in silence for a long while, Felix matching his breathing with Sylvain’s even if the other man is no longer following a specific cadence. He has just replaced a freshly wet washcloth over Felix’s forehead.

“How you doing?”

Felix blinks at the soft light of the room.“‘M… hazy…”

“Yeah? Sleep hazy or heat hazy?” 

The nausea has set in. He closes his eyes. “Dunno…”

“I’m gonna get you some water.” As Sylvain leaves the bed, one of Felix’s hands goes out to grab him but too slowly, only closing on empty air. It is cold without him there. Not a kind that helps. When he returns, Sylvain holds the cup out with both hands, waiting for Felix to take it. They don’t show, but Felix can feel the tremors hiding in his arms, in the depths of his muscles, and doesn’t trust them to do the job alone, so takes the bottom of the cup in just his fingertips to guide it the rest of the way to his lips while Sylvain still holds it. 

The water is cool and fresh and flavorless, but with Sylvain’s hands right by his nose, the scent of herbs settles onto his tongue. He remembers the one time he actually tasted Sylvain’s skin. All the fever in his body turns to hunger for one burning second - He wants that again. 

He moves one hand up to cover Sylvain’s. Immediately the contact is molten, electrifying. Like catching a spell in his bare hand. He pries Sylvain’s hand off the cup and brings it to his face and presses into it hard. Dry and calloused from years of handling horse reins and wooden lances, broad and strong and the kind of warm he wishes he could come back down to.

It is more divine than anything else he’s ever touched to his face.

“Think it might be heat hazy…” He mumbles into Sylvain’s palm. Life returns to Sylvain’s hand, taking control from Felix and adjusting the hold on his face so the redhead can stroke his cheek.

“Okay.” The hand drops to the hem of Felix’s sweat-soaked shirt, helping him to strip it off, his jacket long since tossed away. Sylvain takes a moment to brush some flyaways back into place and rests his face on top of Felix’s head.

“Ah, yep. There it is.” Felix can feel the smile against his hair. “Goddess, I forgot how _ good _ you smell in heat.”

“_Sylvain_.” He chides, trying to worm out of his pants on his own. He doesn’t want compliments, he wants _ friction_. But at least he doesn’t have to try and hide a blush - one less thing to worry about.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Sylvain’s hands join his own, also taking hold of his smallclothes as well as his pants and pulling them both free. Felix sighs with relief and stretches out over the cool sheets. His thighs are already damp with both sweat and slick, the sheets sticking to him as he tries to find a comfortable position.

“Oh, hey, hold on just a second.” Sylvain leaves the bed to retrieve something out of the chest he got from Manuela. He comes back, box in tow, to set it within arm’s reach of the bed. As he climbs back over Felix, he has the ring of leather cord in his hand. He sits up on his knees and rolls it over his cock.

“Oh. Ooph. That’ll take some getting used to…” He murmurs, running his thumb over the dark line of it on his shaft before starting to stroke himself to full hardness. Against the flushed skin, the contrast of the leather is striking. Even more so with the rich background of his pubic hair. Felix can’t take his eyes off it. His hands itch wanting to touch it himself. He wonders if he’d be able to feel the difference inside if it was higher up along the length.

There’s a light slapping on his flank.

“Felix. Hey.”

“Huh?”

“You okay? You spaced out on me.”

Felix blinks. “I’m just… really hot.” There’s that signature half smile.

“Yeah, I know. Want me to do something about it?” Felix kicks at him for the joke, not really intending to hit him but holding back on force just in case he does. Sylvain catches him by the ankle and uses the leverage to force Felix’s legs further apart as he presses himself between them.

“I said, ‘did you want me to do something about it’?” Breathless, Felix does nothing but stare. When he doesn’t respond, Sylvain drops his hold on the swordsman’s leg to walk closer on his hands.

“Felix?”

The fire inside him snaps and cracks loudly and everything comes into too-sharp focus - how tight his skin is, the texture of the sheets, how Sylvain’s eyes are dark with lust and bright with concern. How his heart is fluttering in his chest and not from arousal. Felix scowls and halts Sylvain’s advance by raising his hips. “What, do you need instructions? Let’s _ go _.” The concern falls from Sylvain’s face as he sighs. It’s replaced with a wry quirk of the mouth.

“Yeah, okay.” The redhead sits back on his heels, settling between Felix’s legs. He rubs his thumb over Felix’s entrance, teasing at it to test how open it is. Felix rolls his hips, trying to pin down that stimulation, get it inside, because Goddess he’s so _ empty_, he needs _ something_.

“_Well_?” He demands once he feels the other man’s fingers are replaced by something larger. Sylvain gives him an unimpressed look and thrusts once, sharply. Felix gasps, curling in on himself. He unfurls, rolling his hips to force Sylvain deeper, clenching on the hot length now inside him. Sylvain has his eyes closed and is biting his lip, holding perfectly still. Felix sits up, bracing his legs around Sylvain's and throwing his arms over the redhead's shoulders to bring them face to face.

"Is that all you got?"

Sylvain's eyes crack open, all molten amber and dark pits that swallow him whole, stealing all the air from his lungs. There is a soft growl in the back of his throat as he closed the distance between them, their noses only a hair's breadth apart. Felix lets his weight fall backward, pulling Sylvain with him. The redhead maintains that closeness the whole way down, chasing Felix with his mouth as he sprawls back on the sheets. Felix tilts his chin all the way up, baring his throat, and Sylvain stops. Pulls away. Their eyes meet in silence, both too aware of the significance. Sylvain licks his lips.

"Do you…?”

Felix thinks for a minute. Waits, really. There's nothing to think on. He doesn't change his posture, his neck still fully exposed. 

“Yeah.”

Sylvain moves his hand from Felix's wrist to lay their palms together, pressing his fingers in between the swordsman's but not grabbing.

It is Felix who closes his hand around Sylvain's, their fingers laced. Only then does Sylvain put his mouth back on Felix's neck, spanning as much of it as he can fit and biting lightly, slowly dragging his teeth inward as he pulls away so that it ends with nipping at the delicate spot under Felix’s chin. Felix whimpers, a ripple going down his whole body as Sylvain soothes the spot with his tongue, peppering light kisses over the rest of the vulnerable skin. The swordsman rocks his hips up, restarting the forgotten motion to match the timing of each gentle touch of lips. Sylvain growls at the added friction, pressing the flats of his bared teeth against an artery. Felix lets out a ragged moan, one of his hands slipping out from under Sylvain’s to grab his hair instead, pushing him closer, holding him there. Sylvain’s teeth part, pinching some of the flesh between them. Felix moans louder, pressing Sylvain against him harder, hips rocking furiously. He pants and swears into Sylvain's hair, feeling the mounting pressure deep inside him.

"Ah-- _ fuck, _ hah-- _ " _It's a burst of liquid heat both inside and out, his release spreading over his belly as extra slick oozes around Sylvain's cock. The cavalier keeps thrusting, Felix's passage fluttering around him as satisfaction rolls in like the tide, rising and rising until finally receding out of reach. Felix sighs, going limp.

Above him, Sylvain's head hangs between his shoulders, his broad shoulders heaving as he pants. Felix rocks his hips just a bit, bearing down on the hardness he still feels. Sylvain flinches and whimpers. In an interesting reversal, Felix reaches out to tip Sylvain's chin up, meeting his eyes.

"You alright?"

"I uh, I think I might need some help… to keep going."

"So go get it."

Instead of leaving, Sylvain's eyes fix on the bruise blooming high on Felix's neck. He reaches out and traces over it with a thumb. Felix watches him, letting his hand linger.

“What?” Sylvain chuckles quietly, taking his hand back to brush his hair out of his face with it.

“Nothing.”

Felix plants a foot on the cavalier's muscular thigh and shoves. "Then hurry up and get whatever it was you needed. We're just getting started."

\---

Two days later, morning comes as it always does. Felix’s senses come awake in stages, first with the sensation of warmth and softness cocooning him. Next are smells - musky linen and fresh bread and...Pine needles?

“Mmmitri...?” He slurs sleepily.

There is a clatter and some vibrantly hissed swearing in a voice that most definitely does not belong to the prince. His eyes open slower than he’d like, and everything is still fuzzy when they do. Someone crouches in front of him, picking up white shards. The morning light catches on red hair like a match to tinder.

He frowns in confusion.

“Sylvain?” He blinks trying to rouse his senses faster, to no avail. 

“Go back to sleep,” Sylvain says quickly. There’s a cold edge to his voice. “I’ll take care of it.”

Felix’s eyelids lower of their own accord, the clutches of sleep quickly taking hold again. He rolls over, taking Sylvain on his word that things are fine.

\---

When Felix next wakes, it is all at once. He stretches and sits up, yawning and scrubbing at his hair. He knows already that he won’t enjoy being on horseback for most of the coming day, but the soreness is something he’ll take - He feels otherwise refreshed in the way he's recently learned only comes after a satisfying heat and it’s still a novelty for him. He casts his eyes about and finds Sylvain sitting in his desk chair, propped up on the back legs, staring out the window. Felix can’t help the curl at the corner of his mouth.

“Hey.” He says, rubbing the sleep dust out of his eyes.

“Hey,” Sylvain answers flatly. Felix frowns at Sylvain’s bizarre lack of energy, but it was an intense past couple days - maybe more so for Sylvain than himself. It makes sense he’d be tired.

There is a service tray with breakfast again - smoked fish and fresh bread and a pot of tea. Felix pours himself a cup and is pleased to see it’s his favorite. When he takes a sip, he finds it’s even been made just the way he likes it - a touch oversteeped to make it sharp and just a little bitter.

“How long until the march?”

“Couple hours,” Sylvain answers, picking at a loose thread on his pants. “Sorry to cut it close. Wanted to make sure you got your rest.”

“Hmm.” Felix says instead of ‘thank you’.

“I’m gonna go suit up. I'll stop by to grab the linens to drop off at the laundry before we head out.”

“Alright. I’ll meet you back here.”

“Nah, go ahead and report in. I’ll meet you at the gate.”

Felix frowns over his tea. “Okay…?”

Sylvain stands up and ambles out of the room, not quite slamming the door behind him. Felix’s frown deepens.

“...huh.” 

Sylvain didn’t ever look at him in that whole exchange. He didn’t even smile once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all ready for some heavy emotional shit in the next chapter?  
Yeah, me neither, but we're all in this together now. ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
> 
> Come yell with me on Twitter, @jk_rts!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, this chapter is Sad.  
But at least it doesn't end with unresolved tension! ;D

The Great Bridge of Myrddin is a resounding victory for Faerghus, securing them passage across the river into Imperial territory. They trounce both Archeon and Ladislava - another step closer to winning the war - and manage to subdue House Gloucester as well, adding Lorenz to their ranks.

And that isn’t the only former classmate they find at Myrddin - Dedue Molinaro returns to them as well. To have yet another of the Blue Lions miraculously shirk death doesn’t quite inspire faith, but Felix will admit it is… almost suspicious, how lucky they are.

Felix watches at a distance as the prince confronts his old retainer. The man of Duscur is nothing less than the embodiment of sincerity and reconciliation, and still Dimitri’s face is the same twisted snarl he uses to fend off the dark when he’s stalking the monastery grounds late at night.

Byleth takes one of Dedue's hands and holds it up, then takes one of Dimitri's and places it atop Dedue's, folding them around each other. He is close enough to make out their words.

"He's here, Dimitri. He's real."

Dimitri’s hand tightens around Dedue’s and he lets out a guttural, broken noise as his face contorts through several emotions at once. He tries to step forward but his knee gives way immediately. Dedue stoops to catch the prince under his arms, slowly lowering them both to the ground.

Byleth gestures to Gilbert across the promenade, hand signing their instructions. When he confirms, Byleth steps back to allow the young men a moment of privacy, but still hovering just off hand, ever the guardian. 

They meet Felix’s gaze while scanning the area and gently shoo him off, toward where their forces are re-grouping under Gilbert and Rodrigue. As he turns to join them, he spies Sylvain on the far side of Dimitri’s reunion, behind their professor, watching him.

\---

The victory at the bridge has only lit a fire under the prince, driving harder than ever over the next few weeks to push the Faerghus army forward, to take down Edelgard once and for all. Gilbert and Rodrigue both present counter points about the dangerous ambiguity of the Alliance and the growing forces at Fort Merceus.

“It doesn’t _ matter_.” Dimitri roars, slamming his hands on the council table as he stands. “_Anyone _ who stands in my way will be _ crushed _ beneath my feet.” Pheromones are coming off him in waves. A ripple goes through the gathered. Ingrid bares her teeth in an uncharacteristic challenge. Mercedes places a hand on her chest, looking a bit faint. Felix tilts his head to the side, eyes cast to the floor.

A split second later, his shoulders are bunched up around his ears as he glares at Dimitri across the room.

Everyone has gone silent and still. Sylvain is the only one not looking at the prince, his eyes instead focused on Felix.

Byleth stands as well, taking a step toward Dimitri and cutting through the haze of anger like a mountain parting a storm. They cup a hand around the prince's cheek and the entirety of him falters. The professor pulls his face down low, next to theirs, and speaks in a hushed tone. Dimitri hesitates, then nods. Byleth's hand drops and the prince almost stumbles.

He does not look at anyone as he leaves.

Byleth watches him go then turns to face the room.

"You heard him." They say, and movement returns to the war council all at once.

Felix excuses himself from the meeting room, forgetting his assigned task as he steps out into the hallway and onto Dimitri’s fresh scentrail.

He holds his breath before it conjures up any longing, and walks firmly the other direction.

\---

Felix lies awake that night staring blankly at his ceiling. Neither his body nor mind is tired enough to sleep, though he knows he needs it. It as though he has been in a fog since the council meeting. Not quite the same as when he last crossed paths with Dimitri during a heat, but he hasn’t been able to focus all day, his thoughts slipping out of his hold as soon as he grasps them.

He throws his covers off and finds his boots.

\---

Felix is staring hard at his feet as he strides into the cathedral. A swatch of blue snags on the edge of his vision and his head snaps up, body freezing in place.

Dimitri’s distinctive cape is visible as an unmoving heap, slumped upon the rubble, his golden hair peeking out over it, bright against the grays and browns but even more so against the black of their professor’s clothing. Byleth is practically lounging on the rocks and debris, the prince’s head cushioned in their lap. His boot scuffs the floor as he steps backwards, scattering some small stone fragments.

Byleth looks up at the noise, finding him in the dark. They beckon to him with one hand.

He steps into the altar area, but the furthest edge of it, eyes warily fixed on Dimitri’s sleeping form. Byleth beckons him again.

“Come closer - he’s in no danger of waking up.” They rest a hand on the prince's head, smoothing over the pale tangled hair. "Things caught up with him today."

Felix makes a face, sneering in disbelief, "How can you _ do _that?"

"What, sitting? It's quite easy--"

"_No_, how do you-- How can you stand to… to _ touch _ him like that?"

"It's not as though he has _ fleas _, Felix." The corner of their mouth twitches, a flash of a knife. "But I don't need to tell you that." He knows his face turns a furious shade of red, but he does not know which emotion has caused it.

"I wasn't-- I didn’t have a choice! It’s not like I was _ cuddling up _ to him.”

"Sometimes, all a person needs," They lock eyes with him, unearthly bright in the darkness of the cathedral. "Is a gentler touch."

He crosses his arms and looks away. "After all he's done, he doesn't deserve 'gentle',” he says. It’s mostly under his breath, but the silence of the half ruined building amplifies it.

"Perhaps. But it's not about what he _ deserves_, is it? Or even what he wants. It's about what he _ needs_. You know what that difference is, don't you?"

Felix bares his teeth. Attacks instead of defends. "For anything related to the boar to be 'gentle' is an oxymoron."

Byleth hums at him. "The same could be said of me. You know they called me 'the Ashen Demon' when I was a mercenary? You don't get a name like that by being gentle."

"You're different."

"No I'm not." And they say it so easily, without shame for themself or even judgement for Felix. "I've done plenty of things I'm not proud of. Just because you, Felix Hugo Fraldarius, were not there to witness them, does not mean they did not happen. And yet, I have your admiration, not your disdain." Felix sputters at that.

"That's because-- you and I-- I don't--"

"Because you don’t care about me the same way?" It's a tease, just a tweak, but the implication catches in his chest like deep serrations on a blade.

"_I don't--_" Felix realizes he is almost shouting and drops his voice down to a hiss. "I don't care about _him_ at _ all_!"

"Yes you do." A voice that soft shouldn't be able to gut him the way it does. He swallows, unable to speak. Byleth continues. "You can hate someone for their actions or what they've become and still care about them. Compassion is one of our best features, I think. To still care about people despite what they may have done."

He eventually dredges up his voice from the layers of muck it was stuck under in his throat. All he gets out is a cracked, "No…"

"One of the hardest things you'll learn is that just because you love someone, doesn't make them exempt from doing wrong. And loving them anyway doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you."

“I- I don’t--”

“‘Love’ is a great many things Felix, first among them is ‘complicated’. It does everyone a disservice to reduce it down to fairytale romance.” Felix shies away, looking for a distraction. He picks up a rock and turns it over in his hands.

“Did you come to rail against the Goddess again?” Byleth asks him as he tosses the rock away and picks up another.

“Not… not really, no.”

“Then what brought you here?”

“I don’t know…”

“Hm.”

Felix continues to pick through rocks, tossing them away after inspection, not exactly sure what he’s looking for. He has a prickling feeling up the back of his neck that only grows the longer the silence stretches. It’s not that the former mercenary is watching him, but something about Byleth’s presence just causes things to bubble up. He knows it is at the boiling point when he feels the prickling all along the back of his arms too, his skin itching and crawling with a secret that needs to be let out.

"Sylvain has been avoiding me." He finally says, tossing another stone aside. The next one he picks up is a fragment of smooth, golden-orange marble. He holds on to this one.

Byleth's normally unreadable expression becomes an obvious frown. "Hm."

“I don’t know why.” Felix spits out, knowing that they would ask.

“Have you tried asking him?”

Felix rolls his eyes in response, not bothering to hide it. “Can’t _ ask him _ if he won’t _ speak to me_.”

“Try speaking with something other than words.” Felix covers his face with one hand, pinching at the bridge of his nose.

“_Why _ are you _ like _this?” Byleth turns to face him, face blank and eyes owlish.

“Like what?” The tone is all wrong, like music out of key. Felix suppresses a shudder. Their haunting facade cracks, putting a light back in their eyes and a curve to their lips. Felix allows himself a chuckle, even if it’s only out of relief.

“I can’t believe they made you a teacher.”

“That makes two of us.”

Silence falls over them again - softer, more settled. Felix traces over the edges of the piece of marble he picked up, turning it over and over and over. The sky darkens further, and dawn is a long way off yet, but Dimitri stirs, the rubble under him clattering as he shifts. Byleth hushes him and he stills again, but they cast a glance at Felix out of the corner of their eye.

“If you wanted to avoid him, you should leave now.” He nods at them once and picks his way out of the cathedral as quietly as he can.

He still has the piece of marble in hand when he gets back to his room.

\---

His sleep was fitful, but it was sleep. The first light of dawn is more than enough to wake him. He'd have thought such a poor night's rest would have left him tired, but he is up and dressed in minutes.

It is far too early to worry about chores for the day. His palms itch for a sword hilt, his foot won't stop tapping. He won't be able to focus anyway until he burns this off.

He stalks out to the hallway and pounds on Sylvain’s door.

After several moments of uncoordinated thumping, the cavalier opens the door, eyes closed and undressed.

“Felix…?

“Come spar with me.”

“Wha--?”

“I said ‘come spar with me’ you lethargic oaf. Let’s go.” Sylvain squints at him, and maybe half of it is because he is still waking up.

“Yeah, okay… sure…” He says, vaguely bobbing his head in a nod. He leaves the door but doesn't close it, so its not as though Felix is _ trying _ to look into the room as Sylvain gets dressed.

He happens to look up and meet Felix's eyes as he's pulling on his boots, and he pauses for just a moment. A mottled blush spills onto the redhead's cheeks and he finishes shoving his second boot on, not looking in Felix's direction again.

That's fine by Felix, who purposely leads as they walk to the training grounds and does not look back.

\---

The arena is expectedly empty, filled only by early morning mists. Felix picks up a practice sword and starts swinging to warm up his arms. Sylvain stands pensively by the weapon rack.

“So we doing swords...?” He asks, reaching for one.

“No, take a lance.”

“Huh?”

“I want your best.”

Sylvain sighs and takes one of the wooden polearms. “If you say so…” The redhead does some perfunctory stretches and stands in the middle of the arena waiting for Felix to finish. When he does, he levels the blade with Sylvain.

“Ready?”

“Sure.” The cavalier sets up in a loose, sloppy stance. Felix closes the distance between them in a matter of steps, handily disarming him and planting a shoulder against Sylvain’s stomach, knocking him flat in the dirt.

“I said your _ best_, Gautier.” Sylvain blinks, dazed. But he retrieves the training lance and readies himself again. Felix nips in with a quick jab, testing his defenses. Sylvain parries it easily and settles more firmly into his stance.

“Come on, give me a challenge.” Stab again, counter-parry, slash. He hops backward out of reach of the half-hearted jab Sylvain directs at him.

“If you wanted a real challenge, you could have asked someone else,” he snipes. Felix scowls.

“Why are you so _ mopey_?” He sneers, ducking inside Sylvain’s defense again and giving a few solid whacks to his lance. Sylvain manages to keep hold of it, but only barely.

“I’m not _ mopey_.”

“_Yes, _ you _ are_.” There is a crack as he scores a direct hit to the center of Sylvain’s lance, putting the redhead off balance. “And you have been for a while. Spit it out!” 

Sylvain backs away a few steps before he stops, resting the butt of the lance on the ground as he heaves a sigh and runs his hand through his hair.

“I just. I know I’m not _ him_, okay?” Felix narrows his eyes and cautiously lowers his sword.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I know you have your issues with Dimitri, but if you-- If you still have some sort of like, feelings or whatever you need to sort out, I don’t want to stop you.”

“Sylvain, _ what _ are you _ talking _ about?”

“That morning, when you called out for him.”

“I never--”

“You did. You were just waking up, and you sounded...so _ happy _. Like it was a nice surprise. And when you realized it was me, you were...annoyed.”

A series of sounds and smells and images flick together in a flashing chain like a well aimed Thoron.

His stomach ties itself in knots thinking about tea.

“I just...don’t want to be a disappointment.” Sylvain looks away from Felix, and it’s more that the swordsman can make out the shapes of the word than hear it, it’s added on so softly. “Anymore.”

Felix’s vision goes red. The Crest of Fraldarius thrums in his veins, putting a strength to his legs that lets him move far faster than before. He knocks away the training lance and puts Sylvain flat on his back, wooden sword tip at his chin. Sylvain puts up both his hands in surrender.

“Woah, hey!”

Through gritted teeth, Felix growls, “_Pick it up_.”

“What?”

“_I said pick it up! _” Sylvain’s eyes become brown stone and he crawls backward out from under the sword point to retrieve his weapon. He brings it to bear with a flourish, waiting for Felix to lunge in again.

He does, and only now does Sylvain retaliate with the skill Felix has seen on the battlefield. Taking advantage of both his height and the reach of the lance, he plants his feet and swings, catching Felix across the stomach, stunning him long enough to follow up with a well placed jab that finally puts Felix on his back foot.

“Why are you so _ angry_, what do you even have to be _ mad _at me about?”

“I’m mad at _ you_, idiot!” Felix charges, feinting at the last second to duck under a large sweep and putting himself before Sylvain’s broad and unguarded back. He slashes at it viciously, and Sylvain goes down to one knee, grunting out in pain.

"What did _ I _ do?"

"_You gave me a CHOICE!_" Felix roars. "You said--" His voice cracks and it only makes him more angry. "You said, 'it doesn't have to be him'. And you--! You offered me another option, and it-- It worked. Things have been better, with you." Sylvain leans on his lance, panting. Felix swallows. "Staying with Dimitri was the equivalent of lighting my _clothes _on _fire _just to stay warm and you would _dare _think that I would _ever_ **_want _**to go back to that? That I would choose him over you?" He throws his sword down at Sylvain's feet in disgust. "Then you're a bigger idiot than I ever considered possible." He turns and storms away.

"Felix, _ wait_!"

He is not running, he tells himself.

But his feet take him out of the training grounds faster than Sylvain can follow.

\---

Felix bypasses the baths completely, despite now streaming with sweat from his spar with Sylvain. He undoes his jacket, stripping it off as he goes, picking his way up the staircases of the monastery to the parapets. He perches on the stone, letting the wind cool him as he gazes out over the forests and the town that’s been restored to bustling with the presence of the war effort. The open air market and the changed season tint the air with the smell of fresh greenery and imported spices.

But it’s the wrong greenery and the wrong spices, and he buries his face in his wadded up jacket rather than continue to breath it in.

\---

The order has gone out - the army of Faerghus is on the move, eyes set on the Imperial capital. The monastery is a bustle of activity as they prepare to move out.

Felix takes a moment before he leaves his room to stare at his calendar.

It has been another 4 weeks.

And yet, he feels fine. Not a sign of an oncoming heat at all. Not even a hint to be suspicious of.

He bites his lip. This can only mean it is coming later, then. And again, all he has for it is to hope the timing does not leave him by the wayside of the campaign.

He secures his travel pack, his sword, and with one last dubious look at the calendar, the door.

Sylvain is waiting outside Felix's room, his own travel pack over one shoulder. Felix nearly runs into him after locking up, his nose briefly making contact with steel and coating his lungs with the scent of dried herbs. 

He does not ask why Sylvain is there.

"It's not--" Felix cuts himself off and finished with a shrug.

"Yeah, but." Sylvain holds one arm out, inviting him to come closer. Felix looks nervously to either side before quickly stepping into Sylvain's space. He rests one hand on the cavalryman's chestplate, poised to lean in but balanced on his own. Sylvain brushes his fingertips over dark locks, taking a deep breath but otherwise not touching him. What little space is between them feels cavernous.

Sylvain leans back, his brows drawn together, and drops his hand. Felix quickly steps back at the same time.

"Huh."

"Yeah."

"What if it happens on march?"

"I guess we'll see." He says hurriedly, and briskly pushes past the taller man and all but runs down the hallway to meet with the main force.

\---

They win the battle royal at Gronder, but at great cost. The Faerghus forces are weakened from fighting on two fronts. The wounded are tended to. The dead are counted. Stories are told, reminiscing about former classmates who will never again speak.

Again, the Blue Lion's suspicious luck holds - their class all makes it out the other side, hearts still beating.

Beating, but broken.

Apparently the Goddess can only favor one generation at a time - former Blue Lions are not so lucky.

Rodrigue dies as he lived - in service to his king.

Everyone knows better than to mention that to Felix.

Mercedes attends the Duke herself, marking the burial shroud with sigils of preservation, stitching the edges so tightly together as to be seamless. She even selects a bishop from her own battalion, one of their few who can warp, to see the fallen Fraldarius troops all the way back to their home territory. It is an unnecessary luxury.

He does not know how to thank her.

But he supposes she knows already; both his gratitude, and the pain of having a family member's final resting place be so far from home.

When he holds out his hand, she takes it. When he nearly breaks her fingers from how tight he squeezes, she doesn't even flinch.

At the impromptu service before sending them away, he does not offer any words, and he is not asked.

He is now the last of his family - an omega, in every sense.

\---

The return to Garreg Mach is not heralded by any sort of celebration. Everyone is too worn down from the long march back, weighed down further by their loses at Gronder. Felix enters his dark room and tosses his travel pack on the floor before flopping on his bed, fully dressed on top of the covers. He stares at the blank stone of the wall in silence, for he doesn't know how long. His door opens almost silently, no bother of knocking, and closes again just as softly. There is no sound other than the clink of armor and uneven gait as someone tries to walk quietly and doesn't quite manage.

Sylvain eases into place behind him, carefully fitting himself along the curve of Felix's back. His arms weave around the swordsman, broad hands spanning his chest and stomach to hold him close. There is warm breath at the nape of his neck, stirring the hairs there as Sylvain mumbles against his skin, "I've got you, Felix. I’ve got you."

Felix doesn't have much faith in anything - especially not right now - but he believes those words with everything he is.

He slots his fingers between Sylvain's and squeezes. 

Sylvain squeezes back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tentatively putting the final chapter count at 9.  
Think I might be able to bang it all out by the end of the year.
> 
> Come and wish me luck and/or yell about FE3H on Twitter, @jk_rts!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, this is the longest chapter yet at 5200 words  
Also I lied, it's gonna be 10 chapters total.

It is several more days before Felix's heat finally hits. Or at least, what should have been his heat.

Instead of being a keyed-up hormonal storm, Felix spends four days bedridden with fever and too weak to move. Heat sickness brings with it all the worst trappings of a heat cycle and then some, but with none of the (very) small pleasures.

Sylvain stays with him, all the same.

They don't talk much during those four days. Sylvain is more reactive than anticipatory, no stockpiles to draw from, no routine to fall back on. He helps Felix drink water, brings him simple foods that are easy to eat - things that are bland and boring going down and only marginally awful when they inevitably come back up.

He doesn't once complain or comment on cleaning up after some particularly bad wretching.

Despite being in such close proximity, he's never actually up in Felix's space. Even when he wraps Felix up in blankets to combat the chills and holds him tight to keep down the shaking, it's almost clinical. The pressure is the only reason he's able to sleep sometimes, but he knows somewhere deep inside that it's a pale imitation of the times Sylvain had loosely draped an arm over him while they slept.

Sylvain is changing the sheets, as he has so many times before. This time, after Felix is not quite quick enough to lean over the edge when his stomach rejects the latest attempt at a meal.

Felix sits in the corner, cocooned and brooding. He swallows the bile remaining in his mouth and grumbles, "What do you even get out of _ this_?" Surely it was the illness to blame for his voice being so hoarse, and not that he hadn't actually spoken in days. It sounds miserable to his own ears; he can’t imagine how bad he must sound to someone else. Sylvain stops mid-fold to look at him, the corners of his mouth drawn down in a small tight frown. When Felix doesn't meet his eyes, he goes back to tucking in the corners of the sheets.

"Being with you, I guess."

"And that's…?" There are so many ways to finish that question. 

_ You _ ** _guess_**_? _

_ That's all, that's what you want? _

_ That's...enough? _

Where words fail him, Sylvain does not. "Yeah."

\---

Once Felix finally feels well enough to leave his room, he does so by getting out of bed without waking Sylvain and sneaking out.

He can't bring himself to ask the redhead to leave. He's not sure he actually wants him to. 

He only takes a short walk around the housing building, keeping within arms reach of the wall, fingertips trailing over smooth stone and ancient worn wood.

When he gets back to his room, he finds it tidied and empty.

\---

As always, life at the monastery continues regardless of Felix's involvement. And as always, he picks up his duties again, receiving a neatly concise mission briefing and assignments from Gilbert. He takes patrols. He works with the battalions.

The bishop Mercedes had sent back to Fraldarius seeks him out to give him confirmation from his uncle that his late father has been interred in the family tomb. The hot stab in his gut is not the bishop's fault, Felix knows.

He thanks them as politely as he can and heads to the training grounds, memories sliding beneath his skin like a carving knife.

Despite the active war campaign, the arena is mostly empty. What few soldiers are making use of it clear out as soon as they’ve finished, leaving Felix to linger as long as he likes, running through his sword forms. Training is one of the few things that has ever cleared his head, and the only one that doesn’t require another person. Tension begins to leech out of him with every form he completes. He finds a rhythm, builds up a sweat. He is at the sword rack again, selecting a blade better suited opposing lancers when he hears the first voice in hours.

"Felix." 

He looks over his shoulder to see the professor walking toward the weapons rack as well.

"Didn't expect to see you here today." Byleth says plainly.

"If we're going to take back Fhirdiad, everyone needs to be in peak form. I'm no exception." It’s more truth than lie. Byleth tilts their head, examining him.

"Sylvain told me you just got over being heat sick."

Felix scowls. "That's not Sylvain's place to share." As if Byleth wouldn't be able to tell anyway, as soon as they were in a room together; They had an uncannily sharp nose.

"You're allowed to take time off, Felix."

His frown deepens, starting to look over the heavier blades meant for fighting armored units instead. Something heavy to swing, that will curb the rising anger in his chest and tire him out. "I don't need it."

"You've been through a lot recently."

"I'm _ fine_."

“Oh?” Byleth picks up a basic training sword from the weapons rack. "Show me."

Felix blinks at them, not sure what to say. But he reaches for a matching blade and follows them out to the center of the arena.

They face each other, five paces apart. Byleth briefly salutes him with their blade, not taking a stance at all. Felix nods at them in return as he puts his weight on his back foot and waits.

Byleth’s first move is a taunt, holding both arms out to the sides, inviting him to strike. 

If that’s what they want, that’s what they’ll get. Felix bares his teeth and lunges, starting an unrelenting chain of attacks. Each of Felix’s strikes are viciously strong, deceptively fast, and seamlessly combined - a lesser swordfighter would be quickly worn down. But with each blow that they fend off, Byleth's eyes grow colder, their movements smoother and more mechanical. Soon Felix is facing the famed Ashen Demon, a whirl of stone and glass and steel, untouchable and inhuman. They begin to gain ground.

In a blind fury, Felix gestures the sigil for Thoron, calling lightning into his palm and flings it.

Byleth catches the spell in their off hand, grasping electric tendrils as though they are solid and casting it aside, harmlessly to the ground, as though it were no more than an unruly fly.

The lightshow of the magic is enough of a smokescreen for Felix to charge in after his spell, intending to catch his opponent off guard.

Byleth drops their sword and steps into his oncoming attack, disarming him with their bare hands and effortlessly grappling him to the ground. Felix wrenches against the grip they have on his arms.

"You're being reckless," They note, as though this is a lecture and not a sparring session. "Sloppy."

"Let me _ go_."

"This isn't like you."

"I said _ get off_!"

"You’re distracted by your pain."

"_I'__m NOT." _

"Ah," says Byleth, their voice frosting over. "My mistake." They tighten up their grip, pushing Felix's joints to their limits, and it is searingly sharp. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, and something in him finally breaks.

He screams, yells himself hoarse again.

And then he is crying. Sobbing, long after when his arms are released, unable to see the ground in front of him or the way his fingers dig into the tear softened dirt looking for something stable.

Every scrap of willpower he has is gushing out of him, all the energy he had sequestered and hoarded since being sick now lost in the rush of the dam break. He doesn't have it in him to resist when Byleth kneels down in front of him, taking him by the arms, and carefully slots him against their shoulder. He sags against them, pressing his face to the collar of their jacket as a curtain of seafoam hair hides him from the world. Byleth's voice is a gentle lullaby. 

"Shh… just let it out."

"It shouldn't hurt…" he chokes out. It changes to a snarl. "He was _ insufferable_. With all his talk about ‘glorious service’ and his oaths. So why does it--?"

“The most reasonable man in the world will still have emotions. He can hide it as much as he wants, but that doesn't stop them from existing.”

"But I don’t-- I _ didn’t-- _" There is the echo of the cathedral around them, in the same vast openness of the arena. The same ache throbs in his chest as that night.

"I know. But you did, deep down. You do now. That's okay."

“I _ can’t _\--” He doesn’t even know what. There are so many things - there is too much to the world, the weight of all these obligations is too big, he is too young, he is too alone.

Patient as ever, Byleth pets over his hair. “Yes, you can. It’s not a weakness, crying. I know that I’m not very good at it myself, but there’s nothing wrong with expressing emotions. Even the bad ones.” Byleth takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, as though resigning.

"My father, the Blade Breaker, was known for his _ sword _skills, not his people skills. He never taught me that. I think he wanted to, and just never knew how.” They pause, and Felix can hear the upturn in their mouth when they say, “He was happy for me, the first time I cried.” Felix remembers the only time he’s ever seen the former mercenary cry. He wonders for the first time if maybe that was the only time they’ve ever cried at all.

He remembers how he never gave his condolences.

“I’m sorry.” It is all he can offer now, so much later.

“Thank you.” They say. There is a shift in weight as Byleth touches their cheek to the top of Felix’s head, paired with a slight pressure against his back; a barely-there hug. It is a while before Byleth speaks again.

“Some advice, if I may - one griever to another. Sometimes the feelings will contradict each other. That doesn't make them wrong. It is okay to feel all of them. And when you find your peace, there's no need to feel guilty about it."

“This isn’t just about my father.” He can hear what he thinks is a smile in their answer.

“No.”

The tears have quieted, rolling slowly when he blinks instead of falling freely. For the first time, Felix takes a clear breath and realizes that he has never before caught the professor's scent. Even here, his face against their neck, it is faint - almost negligible. Faded as though with age. Damp stone and lichen. He has a brief vision of a giant throne in a dark room, a dizzying sense of feeling small before it. If the tears had not already run dry, the shock of that would have stopped them.

He takes another breath in and finds a new note to it: ancient ivory, worn and well-handled. There is something warm and familiar about it - the comfort of another omega scent. Combined with his dwindling energy, sleep would be within reach were it not for the gentle nagging at the back of his mind.With every breath he takes, he is one step closer to listening and one closer to falling into the abyss. He turns his head slightly, putting his nose just at the top edge of their collar and finally getting the full force of it. If he hadn’t already been propped up by them, he would have thoroughly melted, it puts every last inch of him so at ease. There’s only one other scent that does that, only one reason it does. But in all the time he’s known Byleth not a single person has ever reacted to them as though they were an alpha - especially not any omega students at Garreg Mach.

“Professor…” He slurs. “Why do you…?”

He can hear the almost-smile in their voice again. “Ah. You noticed.”

Felix begins to sit up, sluggish. “What _ are _ you…?” 

Byleth shrugs one shoulder. “Eh. Alpha, omega...both. Neither.”

“Is that even _ possible_, to be more than one?”

“It wouldn’t be the first impossible thing I’ve done. Can you stand?” They have already stood, are offering their hand to him. He grasps it as he rubs at his eyes with his other hand. They haul him to his feet, holding him steady as he finds his balance.

“You should go rest. I can walk you to your room.” The hand at his shoulder is gentle, but the hand still gripping his is iron tight, making it clear it is not a suggestion.

Byleth does indeed accompany him right up to his door, even waiting as he unlocks the door and steps in. They nod at him as he closes the door, apparently satisfied.

Felix closes his eyes and rests against the door. Inside he is achingly hollow and raw. He can't turn around to face his empty room. He listens for the professor's footsteps through the door, holding his breath until the hallway is quiet again.

Felix knocks on the door at the very end of the hallway. There are the muffled noises of someone setting things aside at an unexpected interruption. The door opens cautiously.

“Felix.” Sylvain says, wide-eyed. “Did something-- are you--?” The redhead reaches out as though to grab him, the way he always did to check the swordsman’s scent, but halts halfway. Felix finishes it for him, stepping directly into the cavalier, resting his forehead against his broad chest. 

“No.” He says quietly, into Sylvain’s shirt. "I don't have a reason to be here."

"O-oh. Okay." His hand tentatively comes to rest on the back of Felix’s head. When Felix doesn’t move, it gets a bit more sure, combing through the dark hair that’s fallen free of its tail while fighting Byleth. His other hand settles on Felix’s elbow.

"I wanted to see you." Felix eventually says. Sylvain’s hand moves from his elbow to his back, pulling him a little closer.

“Yeah?” He doesn’t elaborate further. He lets Sylvain take his weight and breathes deeply. The redhead has already changed into a sleep shirt, fresh linen overlaying the crispness of dried herbs. Felix wants to lose himself in it. Alpha scents are mesmerizing, easy to drown in, his muscles always go slack whether he wants them to or not. Sylvain’s is soothing, but not as deeply. Felix relaxes around him because he knows he can, the associations slowly built and layered. It’s one of the few times his body and mind seem to agree.

"I didn't want to be alone." He admits. 

"You're not." Sylvain’s arms wrap around him fully. And _ this _ is what he was missing while he was heatsick - all encompassing warmth without being stifling, reassuring strength around him that is not a trap.

“Can I stay?” Felix whispers, barely audible.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course you can.” Sylvain unwinds from him, opening up the entryway and gesturing for Felix to enter.

\---

Felix begins to split his time between his own room and Sylvain’s. The mornings he wakes up from having spent the night alongside Sylvain are the ones he feels most put together, so it is mostly only on the days where he feels worn down to nothing. Sylvain always welcomes him in, no questions asked. It takes two more weeks before he stops hesitating to greet Felix in his usual manner.

The night before they leave for the capital, they are both pretending to sleep and doing a poor job of it. Finally having enough, Felix scoots backward until he is flush with Sylvain, pulling the taller man’s arm over himself and stuffing the hand under his pillow without a word. Sylvain takes his lead and wriggles around until they are fitted together even more tightly. He lets it sit for a sparse few moments before he asks, “Nervous?” Felix refuses to respond, but in true Sylvain fashion, he knows his answer anyway.

“Yeah, me too.”

He spends the rest of the night murmuring plans for what they can do in the city once its been reclaimed. Felix falls asleep with Sylvain’s voice in his ear, his breath on the back of his neck, and he sleeps soundly.

\---

Fhirdiad is a familiar ghost and a foreign stronghold all at once. He dashes down streets they used to play on as children as Ingrid directs him towards enemies from above. Her pegasus flips and pinwheels, dodging spells from Cornelia’s goons as Felix slices them down. Archers force her to retreat before he has disabled additional defenses for the Titanuses, but he can hear her alpha challenge roar echo from wherever she ended up. 

The damage to the buildings and shops has already rendered some of the avenues unrecognizable as he picks his way back alone. He is quick to draw his blade when he hears the clatter of hooves on the stone street ahead of him, but Sylvain’s dark steed whinnies happily at him as it comes cantering into view. Likewise, the rider smiles down at him and braces his lance, holding out a hand.

“Care for a lift?”

Felix sheaths his sword and grabs his friend’s hand, letting himself be hauled up until he can get a foot in the stirrup and a leg over the horse. Sylvain kicks his mount straight into a gallop as soon as Felix’s arms clasp around his middle.

“Dimitri and Ingrid are ripping into those metal things, but the professor sent out the call that what we need is magic. They already took off with Annette. Ashe is bringing Mercedes up to the front lines. Between the two of you, I think we can bring the heat, right?” If they weren’t atop a horse running full tilt, Felix would have freed one of his hands to punch the cavalier. As it is, he settles for a threat.

“I will push you off this horse, Gautier.” Sylvain’s laugh rings against stone as they barrel through the ravaged streets.

Felix closes his eyes just for a second and enjoys the sound of it - It sounds like victory.

\---

They stay an extra day after the celebration festival, giving everyone time to recover and restock. In the morning they will leave for Garreg Mach, back on campaign again. All the guest rooms in the castle are filled up, but Felix's lays unoccupied. It is the one he most often took when he visited the capital in the past, and he'd rather not sour the night by spending it with ghosts. He is again sharing a bed with Sylvain, the two of them curled close, facing each other but not touching. 

"Hey." Sylvain says. "Three weeks."

Felix cracks one eye open. "What?"

"I'm placing a bet." Sylvain explains. "Three weeks, your next heat starts." Felix snorts and rolls his eyes.

"I'm not taking that bet."

"Fine, but I'm calling it now."

"Shut up." After all that’s happened in the past year, Felix doesn’t want to push what little luck he must have left on something so trivial as his heat being _ predictable_.

\---

Felix huffs some loose hair out of his face, tapping his foot impatiently as he waits for Sylvain to answer his door back at Garreg Mach. His whole skin _ itches _ and he’s half a second away from shredding the loose shirt he’s wearing.

"I don't want to hear it." Felix says as soon as the door is open, pushing past Sylvain. The redhead's face splits in an incandescent grin.

"Oh man, I was _ right_! Down to the _ day! _ Hot damn, I am _ good_."

"I _ just_ said 'I don't want hear it', you twit."

"Aw, come on, let me gloat a little." Sylvain steals both of Felix's hands away from where the swordsman is removing his boots. He leans in, making pleading eyes. "Just a little." Felix makes a disgusted sound and leans backward, scowling. He slips his hands free of Sylvain's and shoves him away. Sylvain only laughs as he rocks back on his heels.

“But seriously, let me see you.” Felix groans, abandoning his boots again so he can sit up to let Sylvain come closer. He threads his fingers into the swordsman’s hair, teasing it free from its tie. Felix tilts his chin up, leaning into the warmth of Sylvain’s wrist where it sits against his cheek. Sylvain’s breaths go ragged. 

“Fuck…” he whispers, as his fingers hook deeper into Felix’s hair, using the grip to expose his neck more. His mouth trailing over the hot skin of Felix’s throat. “_Fuck_, Felix, you smell so good.”

Felix presses one hand lightly to Sylvain’s chest. The other man lets out a tiny whimper as he’s peeled off. He looks Felix in the eyes, pouting. Felix almost considers holding him there, savoring that expression, but his own need is too great. The fire is building fast and he may very well implode if he doesn’t give it something to burn through soon.

“Hurry up and fuck me.”

Whatever fire is inside Felix consumes Sylvain in those five words. He surges forward, clamping his mouth on Felix’s throat, sucking in like Felix is oxygen, and his hands scramble, tearing at every loose edge of clothing he has on. Even with both of them going at it, Felix still thinks it takes entirely too long to get them both naked and on the bed together. Even having kept an eye on the date, this cycle had blindsided him, swooping in fully fledged without the usual build up. They were only just in time to save his pants from the awful mess he’s making of Sylvain’s sheets - not that Sylvain seems to mind, with how he’s helping it along. 

Already working two fingers in and out, Sylvain is hungrily marking up every span of Felix’s neck he can find. Felix moans, flexing his whole body as he hooks a leg over Sylvain’s back, opening himself more. As he adds a third finger, Sylvain finally moves on from Felix’s neck, scraping his teeth over a collarbone and nipping the swell of muscle under it. He can tell where Sylvain is more by the parts of him that disappear into molten heat, the cool touch of air no longer defining their boundaries. The cold hollow inside of him is such a contrast that it hurts. Felix whines, jerking his hips up to dislodge Sylvain’s hand inside him.

“I said _ hurry_.”

And Sylvain does.

He plunges right in, slick and smooth and searing, twisting a hand into raven hair even as Felix digs marks into his shoulders.

"Wanna make you feel good Felix. Wanna keep you right on the edge until you forget everything around you." The hand in his hair tightens and Sylvain’s voice gets low and rough. “Want to be the only one you think about. The only one you need.”

Felix has one coherent thought, before he’s washed away by the rapid pace Sylvain sets with his hips.

_ You’re the only one I _ ** _want_**.

The fire rises, the flames burning higher and higher, with no end in sight - no flare point for them to burn out, no white hot peak to finally overwhelm him, just burning more and more and more, and it’s then that Felix realizes what he needs if he’s ever to come down from this.

“Sylvain. Sylvain, I--” He swallows, trying to catch his breath enough to speak. “I need you--” Above him the beta growls possessively. Felix claws down the redhead’s back, digs nails into his scalp. “_Listen_.” The growling subsides and the thrusts slow, but don’t stop. Sylvain cracks open his eyes and they are so dark that Felix can see himself. If anything, he grips tighter, to steady himself.

“I need you to-- to _ knot me_, okay? It’s-- definitely one of those times.” He watches as the words slowly make their way through Sylvain’s head, the way his eyes refocus and his brow pinches.

“One of…Right. Knot. That’s…” Sylvain straightens up, grimaces, presses his face into Felix’s chest to take a few deep breaths. “That’s in the box. Right. Okay.”

Felix fans himself, trying to catch his breath as Sylvain rummages around for the fake knot he got from Manuela. He hears mumbling, then a few curse words, and finally a hiss of pain, which causes him to prop himself up.

Sylvain has his cock in hand, trying to pull the false knot as close to the base as he can. The difference in color between natural skin and fake is ridiculous, but seeing that extra curve added to Sylvain’s body makes his mouth go dry and he clenches down on empty space, imagining the feel of it.

“Aw, _ fuck_… It’s… And you’re gonna… Fuck.” Sylvain puts both hands on his head and points his eyes heavenwards, as if in prayer. Felix thinks they are watering.

“We can use something else--” Felix quickly offers, but Sylvain cuts him off, waving one hand.

“No, no, it’ll be fine. It’ll be--” Sylvain shakes his head fiercely, blinks his eyes clear. “I’ll be… _ real _sensitive, for a while after this. But I want to, I want to do it.” Felix gives the man a once over, from the determined gleam in his eyes down to his straining cock, still shiny with his slick. He rolls over on his belly, stretching out onto his elbows and spreading his knees to present himself.

“Then do it,” he says, and notes the way Sylvain’s cock jumps at the sight. He’s already too flushed to worry about being embarrassed, but what little blood Sylvain hadn’t already corralled between his legs rushes to his face and quickly paints his cheeks scarlet.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, okay.”

He takes Felix by the hips, lining himself up. The head of his cock already easily presses in. Felix rocks back on it, encouraging. Sylvain groans and shifts forward. The fake knot is still warming to their heightened body temperature, so when it makes contact, Felix gasps. Sylvain has to catch him from pulling away in surprise, and holds them there for a few moments, just grinding their hips together.

“Fe-- Fe...lix…”

“Y-yeah?” He can feel the extra width of it now, right up against his entrance. Sylvain’s weight is driving it in, unacceptably slow. Felix spreads his knees wider, arches his back to force his hips down, and _ oh _\-- Oh, does that feel good. He must’ve just gotten the first bit in, his own skin catching on the strange material. He can feel every minute shift of Sylvain, tugging at him from the inside now, as fingers lightly hold him in place for the tiny thrusts forward.

“Goddess, Fe, it’s so _ tight_. Is it… is it good for you too?” Felix pushes back with all his weight. There’s just a bit of a burn as more of the knot slides in, a tingly in his spine and his hips as he begins to get the sensation he wants. He is nodding against the sheets, not knowing if Sylvain can see.

“It’s-- it’s good, yeah. _ Ah_. But I need-- I need more, Sylvain. Please.” Sylvain gives a couple more insistent pushes and the knot moves further in, but still not all the way.

“_Sylvain_,” His voice is somewhere between a whine and a snarl. “Come _ on_.”

At that, Sylvain grabs him roughly by the hips and _ thrusts _ , until finally that last length of the fake knot is inside him, and Felix cries out with pleasure. Had they not already been on the bed, surely his legs would have given out from under him. Sylvain shudders but is no longer moving, stuck inside him. Felix sits back and rolls his hips, clenching again and again, relishing the feeling of being perfectly full. Dimitri’s knot had nothing on this - it may have been larger, may have been what his body _ said _ it wanted, what it craved, but was never quite satisfying. This - _ this _ was pure bliss, riding out the last of his orgasm on something so solid and smooth, with Sylvain pressed to his back.

Sylvain.

Felix blindly reaches back, hand groping until his fingers catch in thick short hair, and when they do, gripping it almost viciously tight.

“Sylvain?” He pants, hardly a whisper.

“I’m here.” Felix lolls his head back to look over his shoulder, and there he is indeed - tousled red hair gone wild and a thin sheen of sweat across his face. The lamplight gives him a golden glow around the edges, soft and warm to match his expression. Felix’s half lidded eyes trace over every line of that face.

And then he pulls it right up to his own, and kisses him.

It’s a gentle, probing thing, more exploratory than anything. Sylvain does nothing to either facilitate or stop it. When Felix cracks his eyes open, the redhead’s expression has changed into one of mild shock. Felix sighs, nuzzling into Sylvain’s cheek instead.

“Shut up.”

\---

They are laying on the bed together afterwards, Sylvain on his back and Felix packed against his side, dozing while the taller man plays with his hair.

Sylvain clears his throat. "So uh… can we talk about that?"

"Mmph." Felix says. He has his face tucked right into the crook of Sylvain's neck, where there is nothing but warm, smooth skin and the scent of Sylvain at its purest. He wants to roll in it, lay there and enjoy it, like a strong sun on a cold day. Floating, rather than drowning himself in a pine forest.

Sylvain's hand in his hair hesitates and stills, so Felix peels away just enough to use his mouth.

"What about it?"

"Was that a, uh… 'cause I'm in heat' thing?"

"...hm." Felix grunts, applying what thought processes he has available.

He is most definitely still in heat. He feels it in the background - simmering and hazy. When it spurs him to any action he can feel it in all the nerves in his spine, driving him like a knife at his back. 

But when he kissed Sylvain… that all had been low and mellow, sedately bubbling below the surface, already overtaken by satisfaction. 

He thinks about doing it again, and feels it instead in his chest, his throat, his lips - pulling him toward it, drawing him in.

It is definitely not his heat driving the choice.

"No."

"Oh! Okay. Cool. Uh… could we, um." Sylvain rolls, displacing him. He makes an angry little noise and opens his eyes to glare at Sylvain but is met with the redhead's face almost touching his. "Could we...do it again?" His brow is drawn up in worry, the warm brown of his eyes flinty and brittle. It is a far cry from his usual rolling arrogance. Felix blinks and keeps his own face carefully neutral.

_ Please_. "I guess."

He expects an eruption of affection - a blinding smile and then an enthusiastic lip crushing kiss. What he gets is a hand lightly brushing hair from his forehead, fingers shaking as they trace behind his ear and weave their way into sleep-mussed tangles. A gentle pressure at the back of his head to move in closer. Sylvain's mouth pressed to his own, a soft push of tongue encouraging his own mouth to open, asking permission.

They kiss long and slow, not a single inch of Sylvain moving beyond his mouth. When Sylvain pulls away, Felix feels the last of his breath pull away with him. Even without that oxygen, he is burning from the inside. 

His eyes open again and his vision fills with Sylvain. The apprehension on the redhead’s face has been replaced with starry-eyed hope.

"So if it's not an 'in heat' thing...can I do that outside of your heats?" Felix blinks slowly.

"...Yeah."

And there is the blinding smile. Sylvain crashes their faces together, Felix's forehead against the bridge of his nose.

"'M gonna kiss you _ so _ much." He mumbles directly into Felix’s face, already leaving a kiss as a promise. "In front of _ everybody_."

"Oh fuck _ off_."

"Aw, why would I do that when you're right here?" Felix rolls on top of Sylvain, purposely digging his chin into the redhead's sternum as he glares down at his partner and his smug half smile.

"Hmph…" He sits up, letting the blanket fall off his shoulders, exposing his hot skin to the refreshing air. Sylvain wriggles under him, lining up their hips to better keep Felix’s balance.

"Fine, I guess." He concedes, arching his back a bit to stretch. "But it better be a good one - I wanna be able to sleep after this."

Sylvain strokes along the top of his thigh, a dopey, lopsided grin plastered on his face.

"Anything for you, babe."

There's a different weight to those words now.

Felix likes the shape of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -sticks out a leggy-  
And they f i n a l l y kiss. I've had that scene written for WEEKS and I'm DELIGHTED to get to post it.
> 
> Now it's just a mad rush to get the last two chapters tidied up into something satisfying before the end of the month.  
Come yell with me on Twitter, @jk_rt!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is still the holidays, so we're counting this as on time. We're still on track to finish this by the new year.

“Hey Fe?” Sylvain’s eyes are slow to open. They seem almost hollow, but still reflect his gentle smile. “I’m _ wiped_.”

“Mmm.” Felix nuzzles closer to Sylvain, lazily rutting against the cavalier’s muscular thigh.

“I need to...tap out, or som’thin’.” His words are already slurring. “Jus’ for a bit…”

“Hmph.” Felix rolls on top of him, his chin fitting neatly into the space between Sylvain’s head and shoulder, hips still gently rocking. “Do you mind if I still…?” There is a rumble in Sylvain’s chest as though he cannot even push the laugh all the way out.

“Feel free.”

“Then it’s fine.” One hand sluggishly lifts and plops down on Felix’s head, fingers clumsily trying to card through the loosely tied hair.

“Y’don’t need anything d’you? Won’t be able to get it for a while…”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Wha’bout... food?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Sylvain valiantly tries to keep a conversation going, but he quickly fades into mumbles and then into snores. Once Felix finds his release atop Sylvain’s solid, still form he sits back, panting. Now that Sylvain had mentioned it, hunger gnaws at his empty stomach, twisting it. He scans the room for his pack with its extra field rations, and finds no sign of it. He slowly realizes that somewhere along the way, he had just trusted Sylvain to see to the details and no longer brought it with him.

He’ll have to… go get it. Felix runs a hand through his hair and looks down at himself.

His hair is in tangles around his fingers. There is a film of dried sweat all over, and in some places it is still drying. He can feel himself leaking, the slick dripping down Sylvain under him. Cum has splattered across the tops of his thighs and his belly.

It is, overall, _ disgusting_, and yet… he finds himself indifferent for once. It is just layers of grime, no more harmful than caked on dust from a hard day training or a long stretch on march. It can wait - food is more pressing.

Because his room is just two doors away, Felix doesn’t bother getting fully dressed, just grabbing the nearest shirt and pulling it on. It is Sylvain’s, so it goes past his waist, but only just. His cock is already stirring again, so he’d better make this trip quick.

\---

Felix has a strip of jerky hanging from his mouth, chewing absently while he roots through the contents of his bag. More jerky, travel bread, dried fruits… Nothing to match the fresh hot meals Sylvain had been bringing from the mess hall, but it would have to do.

The short walk is a welcome chance to stretch, even if his stiff legs force him to move slowly. Felix rolls his neck, stretching that as well. He removes his hand from his bag to rub at a sore spot, causing the shirt to ride up.

There is a shriek of tearing metal as a door hinge is ruined. He does not want to look, but his head turns anyway.

Dimitri is standing in the doorway to his own room, door hanging uneveningly, one gauntleted hand buried in the wood. Felix slowly lowers his hand, letting the shirt fall back into place. It doesn’t catch on where he’s half hard, but it doesn’t do much to hide it either. Sylvain’s shirt hangs loosely off his shoulders, leaving the swath of lovebitten skin down his throat and chest fully on display. Sylvain may not be able to claim him as an alpha, but the number of times he’s gotten his mouth on Felix’s neck makes enough of a statement.

In the doorway, Dimitri is breathing hard, his eye directed at Felix but not focused on him. The fire simmering in his gut bursts to life as a series of emotions flash through him, each devoured as quickly as they show up by the flames of his heat. It doesn’t even resolve into any sort of desire, just a blank hotness that prickles his skin from the inside. 

His lungs ache and Felix remembers to breathe. He takes in air slowly, bracing himself to be overwhelmed. His own scent is heavy around him, but he is tuned to pick up an alpha’s scent and the familiarity of Dimitri’s cuts through his senses in a flood of cold steel and fresh snow-damp pine.

And it does nothing for him. Here he is, in the peak of his heat, primed and exposed, with an alpha within reach right in front of him, and he doesn’t feel even a spark of lust. Even the calming effect has hardly set in.

Felix slowly removes the jerky from his mouth and inclines his head toward the king. "Dimitri." He says, voice perfectly level.

Dimitri takes a shaky breath. "F-Felix."

Felix takes one experimental step forward, turning as he does to continue facing the king. The wood creaks under Dimitri’s hand. Felix takes another step, feet crossing smoothly over each other to keep the king in his line of sight. Dimitri lurches, and Felix drops into a sword stance, reaching for a blade that isn’t there. There is a sudden cold sharpness in his chest, behind his ribs.

He identifies it not as fear, but as worry - but not for himself. Worry for Dimitri. 

For Sylvain.

But the king has not left the doorway. His feet have even shifted further back into his room, putting him at an angle, and his hands are braced against the inner edge as if it is falling in on him. His head hangs down, blond hair covering his face, the only movement now the shuddering of his shoulders.

Felix takes another step, now moving backwards, and waits for a reaction. When he gets none, he takes a few more, and continues until he has made it all the way back to Sylvain’s room. He can no longer see the king. Felix quickly ducks in and closes the door as quietly as he can.

He locks it, for good measure.

He then leans his forehead against the wood, listening. His heart pounds in his ears, and that is the only sound. There is no movement in the hallway. 

He releases the breath he was holding, expels the last of Dimitri’s presence. Fire licks at his skin but is unable to reach the cold pit that now sits in his stomach.

He makes his way back to the bed and climbs over the heap of Sylvain to nestle in with the wall at his back and the cavalier between him and the door. He tells himself it is not because he is nervous.

Sylvain stiffly lifts an arm and drops it across Felix's chest, nearly landing on his throat. Even in his sleep, Sylvain draws them closer together. Felix can't help but smile. What had frozen in him in the hallway begins to thaw.

_ Sometimes all a person needs is a gentler touch. _

_ No need to feel guilty. _

\---

When Sylvain wakes, he does so with a long deep breath, during which he tangles all his limbs around Felix and crushes the shorter man to him. He releases him with a yawn when he stretches all his limbs out again. Sylvain rubs at his eyes, blinking them open. They focus on Felix and he hums happily at the sight of the swordsman, snuggling in closer and partially rolling on top of him. Felix shoves at him with one hand, not making the effort to move him.

"Get _ off _me, you cretin."

"But you're so _ comfy _…" Sylvain huffs, going limp on top of Felix. “And I still can hardly move…”

“What, still?” Felix combes a hand through the bright unruly curls. 

“Mmhmm…” Sylvain nips at the bruises he had left around Felix’s collar. "You remember how you told me sometimes your heats are hard?"

"Yeah?" He gasps, tilting his chin up. It feels like a lifetime ago, that first heat he spent with Sylvain.

"I believe you now. Gonna need all the recovery time we can get."

“Hmph.” Felix twists at a tuft of hair just a bit too sharply, smirking at the tiny noise it draws from redhead. Sylvain shakes Felix’s hand loose from his head in retaliation.

"Hey. So. I'm putting this out there - end of next month." Felix replaces his hand, toying with Sylvain’s hair again. He frowns at the estimate.

"_Where _ are you even _ getting _ that number from."

"Well cause it’s been getting longer, right? In between? That's about how long its been since your last one, plus a little wiggle room. It's totally logical." Felix cracks open one eye to cast a judging look at Sylvain. He finds the cavalier grinning at him, eyes alight. He slides his hand down out of the other man’s hair to cover his face.

"_Ugh_, we'll see."

Sylvain laughs. “I still get to kiss you outside, right?"

"Whatever." Sylvain easily pushes past his hand to plant a loud smack on his cheek and Felix doesn't bother hiding his smile.

"You know, for all your complaining, your _ mouth _ seems to be working just fine." Sylvain meets his gaze, the mahogany of his eyes going smouldering dark.

"Is that a request?" Felix places a hand against the other man’s cheek and pushes him away instead of answering, a blush taking over his whole face. Sylvain chuckles and takes him by the wrist, kissing his palm. He kisses down Felix’s arm before moving to his chest and then inching downward, pushing the shirt up out of the way as he goes.

The rest of the world falls away except for his hands in Sylvain’s hair and Sylvain’s head between his thighs.

He does not mention Dimitri.

\---

The prince had been reclusive before retaking Fhirdiad, so when the king makes himself scarce, Felix hardly notices. At the next war council meeting, he kicks Sylvain’s chair out from under the council table as he approaches so he can sit down. The cavalier leans in to kiss him on the cheek before taking his seat.

“Thanks babe.” 

“Tch.” Felix rolls his eyes and looks away, resting his head in his hand to partially cover the rising blush. It only makes Sylvain reach over to try and ruffle his hair. He keeps trying even as Felix scowls at him and bats his hand away. Ingrid clears her throat from across the table, squinting at them while she’s organizing papers. Sylvain grins and waves at her.

The monastery clock tower chimes, and the assembled council takes their seats. Everyone looks to Gilbert to start the meeting, when they see that Dimitri has not arrived.

"There are several items that require his Majesty's input."

Byleth stares at his empty seat a few moments longer, expressionless.

“We have managed without his input before.” They say, turning on the council at large. Their tone invites no discussion. Gilbert shuffles through his agenda, pulling different pages and reports to the front. He hesitantly begins reading aloud, and the war council convenes.

When the council concludes, Dimitri is still nowhere to be seen.

\---

An incessant pounding on his door jars Felix out of the almost-meditative state he had fallen into while cleaning and sharpening his swords. Mood soured, Felix flings open the door to chew out whoever had come so rudely knocking and is met with Gilbert and Dedue, both looking solemn. Sylvain is leaning against the wall just to the side of the door jamb. When he sees Felix, his shoulders visibly relax. Felix directs his wrath to the other two men.

"Can I help you...?"

Gilbert bows slightly. "Please forgive our intrusion, Felix. We have news that must be delivered to the king immediately but have been unable to find him. Would you happen to have seen him recently?"

Felix crosses his arms. "Can't say I have. What even made you think the boar would be here?" Sylvain gestures expansively to Gilbert, as though saying 'I told you so'. The older man sighs heavily.

"We...have reason to believe that his Majesty has...gone into rut, and that is why he has been so elusive."

Felix remembers creaking wood and a door pulled off its hinges. 

Ah.

"So they went looking for omegas. They already asked Mercedes." Sylvain adds quickly. "And he wouldn't go to someone he doesn't know." There is an edge to his voice that Felix recognizes from him getting defensive - he is no more happy than Felix that they thought they might find the missing monarch here.

Felix runs through the list in his head. With the exception of Ingrid, all the people with the most history with Dimitri are present and accounted for. Mercedes is the only other omega that Dimitri has a connection to.

Except… that isn't quite true, now is it?

"Have you asked the professor?" The confused glances that are passed around confirms for him that no one else has been close enough to the former mercenary to catch their dual scent.

He pushes past all three men, who quickly fall into line behind him.

Felix knocks firmly on the door to the former mercenary’s quarters, ignoring the insistence of both Gilbert and Dedue that surely the professor would have told them of Dimitri’s whereabouts, had they known. The door swings open just enough to reveal Byleth, unkempt and breathing hard, with nothing more than Dimitri’s cape thrown over their shoulders, held shut at the chest with one hand. Felix simply steps back, pointing at the telltale cape. To his credit, Gilbert recovers quickly, clearing his throat and straightening his back.

“We need to speak with the King, on an urgent matter,” he explains.

“The King,” Byleth pants, “Is indisposed. Come back later.” And then the door slams in all four of their faces. They stand in silence until Sylvain mutters,

“Well _ damn_, Professor.”

\---

The urgent news turns out to be a request for aid from Derdriu, as Gilbert shares during an impromptu war council meeting. Both Dimitri and Byleth are absent, which Gilbert pointedly ignores as he outlines the plan for mobilizing - they leave the day after tomorrow. Sylvain raises his hand at the end.

“Yeah, so, are we just leaving the king and professor here?” Felix elbows him in the ribs as both Gilbert and Dedue send him withering looks. Gilbert dismisses the meeting in the interest of time and does not grace him an answer.

Felix and Sylvain walk back to their rooms together in silence. As they climb the stairs, Sylvain asks his question again.

“Okay but _ are _ we leaving them behind?

“Of course we’re not.”

“But like…Do you think he’ll… Will you be okay?”

“I can handle myself.” Felix snaps automatically.

“No, I know you can, I meant--” Sylvain groans and covers his face with his hands. “I don’t know what I meant.”

“Sylvain, it’ll be _ fine_.”

“Okay.” He lingers outside Felix’s door as the swordsman unlocks it. Felix eyes him and pauses before stepping into his room.

“Did you...need something?”

"Yeah, um. Actually. I have something for you." Sylvain digs into one of his belt pouches and presents a folded paper parcel, tied with string. Felix takes it and tugs open the tiny bow and pushes away the folded layers.

Inside the waxed paper is a small circle of the most delicate parchment Felix has ever seen, so thin as to be practically see through. On it is a sigil he's not familiar with - the shapes not reminiscent of any spell he's ever studied.

"What...is it...?"

"Annette helped me make it." Sylvain bashfully runs a hand through his hair. "A-and Dedue, and Mercedes. It's um, it's rice paper - it dissolves. If you get it wet."

Felix is careful to hold his breath as he brings the paper sigil close to his face to examine further. He can smell the rice gum now, along with something gritty and metallic. Burned. Incense maybe?

"What does it _ do_?" Felix clarifies.

"It'll bond us." Felix nearly crumples the delicate sigil in its packaging.

"It’ll _ what_?!"

"I'm not an alpha, I can't--" Sylvain gestures between the two of them, looking for words. He skips them. "But there are ways to magically sever alpha bonds, so, I figured, why not the other way around right? Annette helped research it with me."

“When did you start on this…?”

“I got the idea after-- After you let me…” Sylvain rubs at his neck, pinching at the skin. Under his fingers the skin pinks quickly as a blush rises toward his face. Felix feels it mirrored in his own cheeks and turns his attention back to the package in his hand.

"Will it work?"

"Well, in theory. We couldn't actually, y'know, _ test _ it on anyone."

"Uh...huh."

"You don't have to answer right now! It's just for if you'd rather-- So you don't have to deal with-- You have the option."

Felix very carefully folds the waxed paper back over the delicate sigil and holds the package out to Sylvain.

"I'll think about it."

Sylvain stares at the package in his open hands. He nods to himself, seeming to test the weight of the paper as though it were made of stone instead. “Yeah. Okay.” He says quietly. His eyes flick back up to Felix’s and for a moment his expression is as crumpled as the paper. “Can I still--?”

Felix goes up on his toes and kisses him gently on the mouth. He feels the relief thrum through Sylvain like a plucked bowstring.

“I’ll think about it.” He repeats, this time making sure to hold Sylvain’s gaze.

“Yeah.” Sylvain says again, firmly this time. “Okay.”

\---

He said he'd think about it, and if Felix is being truthful, he has done nothing _ but_. They leave in the morning for Alliance territory and he cannot sleep. He has opted for the fishing pond instead of the cathedral tonight. There is rubble aplenty everywhere in the monastery, he doesn’t need to be in the cathedral to throw rocks while he thinks. Something about considering a lifetime with another person in a house of faith makes it too heavy, anyway. Too real.

It’s just a question. Just a yes or no question. It shouldn’t be this difficult.

Felix winds up again in preparation for his next throw when a voice comes from behind him.

“Interesting technique.” The professor stands at the start of the pier, a pole and bucket in hand, dressed in their sleep clothes.

He clenches the stone in his hand, feeling the sharp ridges against his palm and fingers, and lowers his arm.

“Professor. Shouldn’t you be...somewhere else?” Byleth walks forward to join him. He braces as they approach, expecting to be hit with a wave of Dimitri's scent lingering on them, but all he smells is wet wood and algae.

“People still need to sleep when they’re in a rut. And I needed a break.” They say, sitting on the edge of the pier to let their bare feet dangle in the water as they fill the bucket with water. “What about you?”

Felix sighs and tosses the rock gently, watching it drop beneath the surface with a soft _ ploop_.

“I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you stay and fish with me then?” Byleth is already fixing bait to their hook. Felix scuffs a boot against the wood of the pier.

“I’m terrible at fishing.”

“Only because you’ve been using rocks; Makes it hard to reel them in.” With an expert flick, the baited hook flies out over the water, disappearing under the surface with hardly a noise. Byleth pulls one leg back up onto the pier, securing the end of the fishing rod in the crook of their bent knee. They lean back on their hands, green eyes reflecting the water, both luminescent under the moon. Felix looks back at the dark and still monastery, in the direction of his room and the ruined cathedral. He turns back to his old professor, serene and ethereal on the pier. He sits on the well-worn wood, crossing his feet under him. The former mercenary doesn’t say anything, but nods slightly in acknowledgement. There is no noise around them but for the waterfall, the gentle lapping of water against stone and wood. 

Felix clears his throat.

“Professor…” He starts slowly, “Have you ever been bonded?”

“Hmm.” Byleth says, as though they had never considered it before. “I can’t say that I have.” 

"Do you think you'd ever want to?" There is a tug on the line, and in a single expert flick, the fish is soaring through the air toward the pier. Byleth catches it, removes the hook and dumps it in their bucket with such quick and fluid motions that Felix leans over to confirm that there is, in fact, a real fish now swimming in it. 

Byleth leans back on their hands and lifts their gaze to the sky. The eerie green of their eyes swallows the starlight. "Maybe. It would depend."

"On what?"

"The person, really. I don't feel the same kind of pull towards people that other alphas and omegas do. People think its an easy match up: Alpha and omega, beta and beta. But life is a puzzle, not a sorting game. You could find someone who's the most alpha-y alpha in the world, but if their shape doesn't fit against the shape of you, what good are they really?” 

“How do you know if they fit right?” He thinks the noise that comes out of the professor might be a laugh.

“That’s not something anyone else can answer for you. You’ll just know.”

“What if I don’t?”

“How so?”

“I don’t know, I just _ don’t_. I can’t tell. What’s the difference between something ‘feeling right’ and just ‘not feeling wrong’? This isn’t a choice I should make if I’m having _ doubts _ about it.” Byleth flicks another fish out of the water, this one so small as to hardly be visible on the end of the line. They throw this one back.

“Sometimes edges don’t line up all the way. Sometimes it’ll fit half the grooves but not all. Sometimes it starts off a perfect fit and something changes and it doesn’t fit anymore. And then you’ve gotta make a decision of what you like better: an imperfect fit, or an empty edge?” Felix looks up from the water and sees that Byleth has turned their unnaturally bright eyes on him, pinning him down with an intensity that rivals the moon above them.

“You asked me once about unlearning instincts - do you remember?”

“Yeah. And you said you can’t, you have to learn over them.” 

Byleth nods. “People change. People’s edges change. Nothing is really forever. And choices are much the same; You can’t take back the choices you’ve made, but you can make new ones based on what you’ve learned and how you’ve changed. Whatever you decide, you can decide something different later."

Felix looks at the pile of loose rubble he had collected and brought to the pier. Instead of picking up another stone, he pulls his knees together and rests his arms on top, watching the professor fill their bucket with fish.

“Are you going to be okay marching to Derdriu?” He asks eventually. “You and the boar?”

Byleth pats him on the boot. “We’ll be fine. You leave Dimitri to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here go folks, we're in the home stretch - only one chapter to go!  
Come yell with me on Twitter, @jk_rts!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!!  
Here it is, the final chapter. It didn't go exactly as planned, but we got there in the end. :)  
(Please forgive any hanging sentences, I need to do another editing pass)

On the road to Derdriu, Dimitri and Byleth travel away from the main force. Dimitri leads the column from the front, on the edge of earshot. Byleth rides closely beside him, and when Dimitri’s steed falters, Felix can make out the shadow of Byleth’s hand reaching across to take hold of the reins. The army is upwind of the pair for most of the day, but there are moments when the crossbreeze carries and Felix tastes pine and musk, heavy on his tongue.

When they stop to make camp, Byleth pulls Dimitri off to the side, makes a separate fire, sets up a single tent. It’s still within the watch perimeter, and Felix does not envy those who have watch duty tonight.

“Hey, Fe.” Sylvain bumps him with an elbow. Felix is is knocked back into the present, sitting around a roaring fire sharing a meal with the other Blue Lions. Sylvain’s voice drops a little lower, hiding behind the crackle of wood and the lively conversation. “Got any insight as to how long it’ll be?”

Felix squints up at him. “What?” Sylvain points with his chin at the distant campfire. Felix gives it a cursory glance before focusing rather keenly on breaking his journey bread into pieces.

“No idea.” He feels Sylvain shift beside him, moving back in surprise and then coming in close again.

“..._Really_?”

“I’ve only seen it once.” Felix says darkly, grinding some journey bread between his fingers into crumbs. “It’s been a while.”

Sylvain reaches over and steals one of the small pieces off Felix’s plate, popping it in his mouth.

“You doing okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” Felix shoves his plate into Sylvain’s hands and stands. “I’m gonna go for a walk.”

He wanders to the far side of the camp away from all the light and noise and does not come back until the first watch is set and everyone else has gone to bed.

\--- 

Felix rolls over again, staring at the peak of his tent. Not a single position he’s found to lay in has been comfortable. Every last inch of him is buzzing with energy that he needs to let out with no outlets. There is no training arena here for him to wear himself out in. There is no one to spar, and even if there was they cannot risk the distraction of a mock fight in the dark when they are within enemy territory.

The only thing he has to occupy himself with is his thoughts, which flit and wheel like startled pegasi - never settling on any one thing long enough for him to dig in and run himself ragged. Felix crosses his arms as tight as he can, trying to channel some of the restlessness into containing himself. Clutching at his sleeves sends his wandering mind down a new path. 

Strong arms wrapped around him. Dimitri’s teeth in someone else’s neck. The western rebellion. Dimitri being celebrated by all of Fhirdiad. A knighting ceremony in the castle. Glenn. The smell of pine. Foreign trees, far from home. They camped somewhere similar to this, once.

The last time they marched south, he came away without a father.

He tears his way out of his tent and drags his bedroll with him.

Officers are camped with their battalions and the cavalry are easy to find. Felix worms his arm through the tied flaps of Sylvain’s tent and gropes around for the ties to let himself in. The cavalier snorts awake and lifts his head up as Felix is retying the flaps.

“Wha…?”

“Move over,” He says, thumping his bundle of blankets against the other man’s legs.

Sylvain fully sits up, rubbing his eyes. “Felix?”

“I said ‘_move over’_.”

Sylvain obligingly scoots to one side so that Felix can lay out his bedroll. He waits as the swordsman thumps it all down flat and throws himself on to it, arms tightly crossed and knees drawn up.

“Fe, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sylvain doesn’t move for a moment, then pulls the blankets over both of them, slowly weaving his limbs around Felix’s compacted form.

He does not say anything when Felix sniffles loudly - just holds him a little tighter.

\---

When they get to the port city, there is almost no holding the boar back. He is coherent enough to see their place in von Riegan’s defense gambit and the laugh it inspires sends a chill down Felix’s spine. The king roars instructions to charge in, and the soldiers who have been marching for days in the wake of an intense, long-repressed alpha rut are all too eager to follow.

Dimitri rips a bloody swath through the Imperial forces that gather in the streets. Every time Felix catches sight of him, it is overlaid with flashes of the western rebellion - the same skills and movements now honed and amplified in power. Byleth dances in the aftermath, flitting in and out of combat as they rain magical torment upon the enemy soldiers, driving them into Dimitri’s lance. At his distance, Felix can see how they shepherd Dimitri too: dictating his path by the placement of targets. 

Even as chaos surges with reinforcements pouring into through the city gates and Dimitri confronts Arundel, Byleth remains rock steady in the heart of the fray, and Felix feels a weight drop away from his heart.

_Sometimes all a person needs is a gentler touch. _

And maybe sometimes what they need is an anchor.

Felix scans the harbor as they clean up the remains of the battle and spies a familiar dark horse where it towers over a woman with long pink hair leaning on a fan-shaped axe. All of him aches with a battle hard fought and won, but it falls away as he sees the rider sit up and tilt his head back, smile flashing in the sun.

\---

Their last confrontation with Golden Deer House at Gronder is momentarily forgotten in favor of the impromptu reunion, even overshadowing the loss of Arundel and any information he took to the grave with him. Ashe and Ingrid are enamored with Judith, a real life embodiment of the stories they’ve always loved. Lorenz gets particularly emotional himself, which is when Felix excuses himself from the socializing.

He finds some unharmed crates against a wall on one of the streets overlooking the harbor and takes a seat. No sooner does he lean back against the wall, enjoying the quiet, does Sylvain sticks his head around the corner.

“Hey!”

Felix can’t bring himself to be anything other than tired. His mouth curves slightly upward anyway. 

“Hey,” he says, letting his head loll to the side. 

“So!” Sylvain throws himself down beside Felix, gesturing expansively. “We made it all the way here, saved the city, apparently reclaimed the Alliance for the Kingdom--”

“Wait, we _ what_?”

“Yeah, Claude was just telling Byleth and Dimitri how he’s dissolving the Leicester Alliance and stepping down. He’s gonna be heading out after the streets are all cleared up.”

Sylvain doesn’t even finish his sentence before Felix is off running.

\---

When Felix finds him, Claude has shed most of his usual regalia, dressed down to his shirtsleeves as he helps clear debris from the docks. 

“_Von_ _Riegan_.” Several of the footsoldiers scurry out of his way, their loads apparently bound for places very much not here. Claude greets him with open arms and a lopsided grin.

“Well if it isn’t the Great Scowler himself! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Felix storms up to him. “What kind of game are you playing?”

The grin doesn’t falter. Claude blinks innocently, his expression too calm, too practiced. “I’m afraid I don’t catch your meaning.”

“You’re the heir to your house AND to the entire Leicester Alliance and you’re _ leaving_? You don’t get to just _ walk away _ from that.”

Claude’s smile evens out in a non-friendly way and he inclines his head. A few stray curls falls into his eyes, lending him some roguish charm that distracts from the condescension in his voice. “How very _ Faerghun _ of you.” He reaches out to clasp the swordsman’s shoulder. “Felix - Can I call you Felix? I know you haven’t been to many places outside of Faerhus, so let me let you in on a little secret of word: It’s _ your _ life. Not your family’s, not your country’s, _ yours_. Things will cling to given the slightest chance - the dead, the living, society - and they’ll become chains if you let them. Follow the path _ you _ believe in. _ Fuck _the rest.”

Felix takes half a step back, too stunned to even shrug off Claude’s hand. “So you’re just… leaving behind _ everything _ \- everything you have, everything you’ve worked for - so that you can, what, follow a-- a _ dream _?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” His smile changes again like quicksilver, becoming subtle and genuine. “I don’t want any of this, none of these splinter politics, none of this war. So I’m leaving. I want a life that’s solely of my own making.” Claude leans in conspiratorially and places his other hand over Felix’s heart. 

“Surely you of all people can relate to that, hm?” He pats Felix firmly on the chest, winking once, and then confidently strides off, calling to a group of soldiers who are fumbling to secure the contents of some storage crates that were damaged amongst the fighting.

As he walks away, some part of Felix is relieved the man is no longer a player in what remains of the war.

\---

They’ve set up a makeshift camp in the city center to feed the troops and tend the wounded. Those who are able will be moving out before day’s end, heading back to Garreg Mach. Felix corners Sylvain during meal time, looming over the seated cavalier.

“Tell me more about it.”

Sylvain looks up mid-bite, food tumbling from his mouth. “Huh?”

“Your uh…” Felix crosses his arms and looks to the side. “Your bonding spell,” He says quietly.

“OH!” The cavalier stuffs the remaining morsel in his mouth and sets his bowl aside, dusting off his hands. “Yeah, yeah, what-- oof.” He covers his mouth briefly and burps loudly. “What did you want to know?”

Felix glares at some of the nearby cavalrymen that have gone quiet and they quickly go back to eating.

“Walk with me.” He says, gesturing for Sylvain to follow.

They go down some side streets, walking aimlessly in circles around buildings until Felix is sure they’re the only ones around.

“So what _ exactly _would the difference be, compared to a natural bond?”

Sylvain cups both his hands behind his head as he walks. “I don’t know, actually.”

“What do you _ mean _ you ‘don’t know’?! How could you not _ know _ , aren’t you the one who _ designed _ it?”

“Me and Annette, yeah.” Sylvain corrects. “And I told you, we didn’t have a way to test it. We don’t know exactly how it’ll work. _ If _ it’ll work.”

Felix pinches the bridge of his nose. “So really what you asked was for me to just _ dive in_, like some wild --” _ Leap of faith _. “Reason experiment, with unknown consequences.”

“Look, Annette and I were _ real _ careful. It’s a pretty barebones link. Honestly, the worst case scenario is that it doesn’t work and you just get a scar for nothing.”

_ A mark from you isn’t nothing_, Felix thinks. He keeps his mouth shut rather than risk saying it. Sylvain stops them both and takes up one of Felix’s hands.

“I know that becoming a bonded pair is a big deal. They drilled that into my head too, remember? If it doesn’t give you what you want, we can just sever it and you can… I don’t know, try again with someone else.”

Felix rips his hand away on instinct. “_I’m NOT--”_ He bites his tongue and stuffs both hands up under his armpits. “I wouldn’t _leave _you over something--” _So trivial._ “--like that.” Felix huffs and turns away from Sylvain. “Who even said I wanted to be bonded with someone anyway?”

Sylvain shrugs. “Like I said: it’s so you have the option.”

He starts walking again, long slow strides, and Felix follows after a moment. They loop around through the side streets without saying another word.

Felix thought that it might be tense, but instead it is comfortable. His arms loosen and eventually drop to his sides. After a few times of bumping knuckles, he grabs hold of the other man’s hand.

He doesn’t look up, but he knows Sylvain is smiling.

\---

The citizens of Derdriu replenish their supplies - a gift from the lords of the former Alliance. They bolster the ranks with some additional battalions, and several make plans to travel to Fhirdiad for fealty talks with Dimitri.

Sylvain offers to let him ride double for a while, holding out a hand to help Felix mount up. Felix scowls up at him, but takes it. After he’s settled in, he rests his head against Sylvain’s shoulder, sun-kissed armor warm against his cheek.

Somewhere along the way, he falls asleep there.

\---

Much like the victory at the Great Bridge of Myrddin, the results of the battle at Derdriu have energized Dimitri almost to a fault. Confident now with the support of the Alliance, he sets his eyes on Enbarr once again. Even news that the Death Knight sits between them and their goal, at the impregnable fortress of Merceus, doesn’t put a damper on his new attitude.

Felix finds it reckless, but at least now it is a different flavor than the wallowing, near suicidal recklessness the king had before. When the boar starts to get truly zealous, the professor is there to pull him back down. They speak more directly than Gilbert dares to, but in the end, they do support the king’s wishes.

Plans are laid.

Dates are set.

Faerghus will march on Fort Merceus.

After the war council, Felix is in Sylvain’s room winding down the evening. Sylvain is reading a book on the bed while he’s polishing his swords on the floor.

“I want to try,” he says. 

“Try what?”

“The bonding sigil.” There is a jumble of sounds behind him as a fumbled book falls to the floor.

“O-oh. Really? You’re sure?”

“No, I’m not sure.” He says firmly. He keeps his eyes fixed on the blade in his lap. If he turns to look at Sylvain, he will not be able to keep his voice steady. “But I want to try anyway. We’re about to set out for one of the Empire’s greatest strongholds. Dimitri thinks there’s no way that we’ll lose, but… The odds aren’t in our favor.”

“We’ll make it out Felix. We always do.”

“But if we _ don’t_.” Felix slams his sword into its sheath and finally turns to look at Sylvain. If the redhead’s face is any indication of how his own face looks, he is grateful he cannot see a mirror. “I don’t-- I don’t want to go in, without knowing.”

Sylvain’s face softens. “Okay.”

Uncertainty gets the better of him. Felix looks back to the sword in his lap, turning it over in his hands. His voice falters when he next speaks, as he knew it would.

“Do we need to wait until I’m…?”

“Oh, no, uh. It doesn’t-- it’s not cycle dependent. We can do it whenever.”

“Alright. Good. That’s-- Yeah. Good.”

“We could even do it tonight, if you wanted.”

“...Oh.” The room suddenly feels very small. His fingers go cold around the sword. It rattles in his hands.

“Or we can wait! We don’t have to do it now.”

“No, let’s--” Felix struggles to take a breath. “Let’s do it.”

“Hey, Fe.” Sylvain’s voice gets closer. Something runs over the nape of his neck - warm and callused. “Fe. Look at me.” Felix lets his head loll back into Sylvain’s hand. The redhead ruffles at his hair.

“It’s okay. Take your time.”

“I _ do _ want to do it. I mean it.”

“I know.”

\---

Felix sits on the bed, shirt in hand, while Sylvain picks at the twine holding the tiny package closed. When he is unable to get a hold of the string to undo the knot, Felix takes the package from him and snaps the string with his teeth. He shakes it loose of the folded paper and carefully opens it, finding the sigil unharmed inside.

“So this is for you, right?” He holds it up as Sylvain strips off his own shirt.

“There’s two, actually. Here--” Sylvain takes the delicate paper and teases at the edge. What was already thin somehow splits thinner, two impossibly gossamer identical sigils. Sylvain holds one out for Felix to take.

Felix thinks his heart stops as his fingers close on the parchment. Sylvain tosses one leg over Felix’s lap and gently guides them both down to the bed, winding one arm behind Felix’s head as he does.

“So where do you want it?” Felix tilts his head to the side and taps at the juncture between his neck and shoulder, toward the back. Sylvain leans in and presses his mouth to the spot Felix pointed out.

“Here?” He murmurs against the skin.

“Yea-h_ aah _…” Felix’s voice breaks as Sylvain sucks the skin into his mouth and grips it with his teeth. He takes his time in releasing it. Felix’s eyelids lift like weights to reveal Sylvain inches away, face all soft curves of fire. It takes Felix a moment to get his breath back.

“What about yours?”

Sylvain smiles down beatifically. “Anywhere is fine.”

“Alright. So… what now?”

“You put the sigil on your tongue, push it against my skin, and then bite down until you taste blood.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

“On three, okay? One…” His hand is shaking. He can see it the way the delicate parchment flutters behind Sylvain’s shoulder. “Two…” He leans forward and sticks the sigil in his mouth. It tastes sweet and burnt. He can feel the paper beginning to dissolve, getting gummy on his tongue. “_Three_.” Felix scrunches his eyes shut and bites. He bites until the taste of copper spills across his tongue, seeping in between it and Sylvain’s skin. The sigil activates, the lines fizzling and sparking in his mouth. He feels a matching pain in his own shoulder and then all the air is pulled out of his lungs. He is falling endlessly, faster than he’s ever moved. His whole skin feels scalded and electrified and he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe and his heart thunders in his chest and in his head and there’s a roaring in his ears louder than any battle he’s ever been in.

And then it’s over.

Sylvain’s hands are on his cheeks, his face filling Felix’s vision.

“Fe? Felix, you with me?”

“Yeah.” He pants. He swallows dryly. “Yeah, I’m here.”

Sylvain kisses him quickly on the forehead. “Good. And _wow_, uh… That’s not-- That’s not what I expected.” He shakes his head, blinking rapidly. “How do you feel?”

“I don’t know, winded?”

“But not different?”

“No, not really.”

Sylvain sits up, eyes flicking around anxiously as he drums his fingers on his chin. “It must not have worked…” He mutters. “There must’ve been something we missed.”

Felix sits up as well and touches his shoulder, grimacing as his fingers find the bite mark. It’s sore, but feels dry - not bleeding. The sigil hums under his fingers, gently. If he was wearing his jacket, he might not feel it at all. He reaches for Sylvain’s chin and grabs it tightly, interrupting his continued muttering to turn the redhead’s face to the side so he can examine the matching sigil on his neck. It buzzes at Felix's touch. When he lays his whole hand over it, he can feel the magic coursing up his arm, a spell charged and ready. It calls to him like an extension of himself, just a single pulsing concept: _mine_.

“No…” Felix says slowly, “It definitely did _something_.”

“Yeah? How can you tell?”

“I _ have _studied magic more than you.” Even pinched in Felix’s hand, Sylvain’s mouth finds room to smile.

“Alright, yeah. But this kind? Got someone you’re not telling me about?” Felix shifts his hand so that it covers Sylvain’s face instead and shoves him away. Sylvain laughs, reaching up to cover Felix’s hand with his own, threading their fingers together.

“Hey Fe?” He asks, kissing the other man’s wrist.

“What.”

Sylvain works his way down the other man’s arm, smiling against the bare skin. 

“You smell good.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “So you’ve told me.”

“No, like… _ really _ good. Like, _ irresistible _ good.” Sylvain slumps down, almost melting into place beside him on the bed. His words slur together the smallest bit. “Can we just… lay here together, for a while?”

“I guess.” Sylvain curls around him, making little happy noises as he buries his nose in Felix’s hair, weaves his fingers between the tied strands. Almost immediately, the redhead falls asleep. He doesn’t even snore; his breaths are long and deep and nearly silent.

Felix recognizes that kind of bone deep relaxation, that dead-to-the-world sleep he only ever got as a child, curled up in his brother’s bed. It doesn’t make sense.

He tucks his own nose up against the hollow of Sylvain’s throat. There’s a depth to his scent now, sharper spices overlaid with the dried herbs. There’s a new sweet undertone he can only find if he holds his breath, takes a mouthful of air and holds the scent on his tongue.

The sigils have obviously done _something_, there must be effects that neither of them are really aware of. But that’s a mystery for another time. For now, the army isn’t going anywhere. They are still riding on the coattails of victory. And he has a freshly minted bond-mate sleeping soundly beside him.

Things are pretty good.

\---

Felix wakes up drenched in sweat. All his senses tell him is his mate is close and he is insufferably, _ stiflingly _ hot. He gropes at his laces of his pants, fingers clumsy. He peels them free only to find himself even more wet, where slick has been gathering in his sleep. He presses his face to his mate’s bare chest, panting as he shoves the pants further down his thighs. As he’s getting himself free, he bucks up against his partner’s erection - hot and straining as well - and Goddess, why the _ fuck _ isn’t that inside Felix yet?

Felix drags his tongue up the line of his mate’s chest muscles and tastes herbs.

“Sylvain…” He paws at the other waistband, overwhelmed with want. His partner rouses beside him, mumbling something and shifting closer. He kicks one leg completely free of his pants and hikes it up over Sylvain’s hip, rocking until he gets into position to sink down onto the waiting cock. Felix whines softly, clutching at the back of Sylvain’s head as he begins to move. A rumble starts up in the redhead’s chest. It’s the deepest growl he’s ever heard Sylvain make. 

“Felix…” Sylvain’s voice is rough with sleep, his eyes still closed. His body begins to move with Felix’s anyway. The hands at his back turn into claws, drawing lines down his spine. Teeth rake over his throat, nip at his collarbones. Each touch is a starburst until they are are lost in the splendor of the sun. By the time they finish, Sylvain is fully awake and looking confused.

“...Fe? What happened?”

Felix sighs and brushes some wet hair out of his face. “I’m in heat.”

Sylvain blinks twice blankly, and then rockets up. “Oh. Oh _ shit _, it’s early.”

“Activating sigils must’ve triggered it…”

Sylvain smacks a hand against his forehead. “Fuck, your _ smell _! I should’ve noticed!”

“We didn’t know, don’t worry about it.”

“Shit, Fe, I’m _ so _sorry--”

“Sylvain, _ focus_. I’m in _ heat_. ** _Unexpectedly_**.”

“Right! Right, right, going.” Sylvain stuffs himself back into his own pants, not minding how soiled the front is. He swipes one of their shirts off the floor, puts it on backwards, and dashes out the door.

Felix flops backwards on the bed.

Well shit.

\---

Waiting alone is easier this time around. He thinks part of it is from having already been filled once, that it takes the edge off. He bunches the sheets up by his face as he lazily strokes himself. Yeah, that must be it.

Sylain bursts through the door, dumping the contents of his arms onto the floor and immediately climbing onto the bed on top of Felix.

“Sorry, I only grabbed what we need for today. Being away from you was making my skin crawl because we’re--” Sylvain’s panicked face lights up, dazzling. He cradles Felix’s head in his hands, ghosts their lips together. “Because we’re _ bonded_.” Felix threads a hand through bright red curls, his own mouth unfurling in a smile. Every breath of Sylvain here in person is like a dip in a cool bath. The fire in the pit of his stomach expands and contracts with it.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, we are.”

Sylvain closes the last distance between them, catching Felix’s mouth in his own. He licks into Felix’s mouth, tongues sliding against each other like hot silk. From there it is all open mouthed kisses and scrambling hands. Sylvain pulls Felix’s hips into his lap, shoving at his own pants so he can take hold himself and line up at Felix’s dripping entrance.

He plunges easily into Felix, a divine stretch with the perfect fit. Sylvain wastes no time from there, setting a rapid and steady pace. He takes hold of Felix’s cock where it lays neglected between them and pumps it quickly, at odds with the cadence of his own hips. Felix moans loudly, squeezing his legs around Sylvain’s back as the tension builds inside of him. The tighter it coils, the tighter he holds Sylvain to him.

When it breaks it washes over both of them in a white hot wave, leaving them both panting and stealing each other’s breaths. They both come down like falling ashes, drifting slowly.

Felix realizes he is still hard in Sylvain’s hand.

Sylvain is still hard inside him.

Felix grabs Sylvain by the ears and kisses him until he needs to breathe. 

“Do that again.”

\---

The next few days pass in a blur filled with bouts of heat more intense than any Felix has experienced. In between, Felix is fully himself as though is cycle is over. He spends those hours twined with Sylvain, fills them with quiet talks and gentle touches.

“What day is it?” Sylvain grumbles into the sheets. Felix sits up enough to get a look at the calendar on Sylvain’s desk, counting days from the last council meeting.

“I think it’s… Friday?”

“Aw, _ fuck _. We move out next week - I had some shit I needed to do with the professor.”

Felix is already swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, reaching for clothes.

“I’ll go explain. You stay here.”

“You sure babe? You just came out of heat.” Felix leans down to peck Sylvain on the mouth.

“It was a good one. I’ll be fine.”

Byleth is in the greenhouse, gathering supplies for the upcoming Hunting Festival. The scent of overturned earth hangs heavy in the air as they dig up tubers. Under that and all the flowers fully in bloom, the professor’s head still lifts and they look around as he enters, turning until their gaze falls on Felix. Byleth’s eyes sharpen and crystallize.

“Well how about that...” They murmur, giving him a once over as he approaches. Their nostrils flare as he gets within arms reach.

“How about _ what _ exactly?”

“Why Felix, If I didn’t know any better, I would say you weren’t an omega.” Otherworldly green narrows down to slits even as Felix’s own eyes widen. “What have you done?” Felix checks that no one else is in the greenhouse and lifts the collar of his jacket. Byleth’s eyes focus on the sigil hungrily. The way their head bobs around reminds Felix far too much of a wyvern.

“Oh, _ interesting_… Sylvain?” Heat prickles at his cheeks, but a warmth pools in his chest like gold.

“Yeah. We didn’t know what all it would do, exactly.”

“But you went for it anyway. Taking risks again are we?”

He allows himself to smile. “Something like that.”

Byleth locks eyes with him. “Good for you,” they say. “Better, even.” 

The corners of Byleth’s mouth are both visibly upturned and it’s the biggest smile Felix has ever seen on the former mercenary.

Between that and the glow he still carries from Sylvain, he feels invincible.

\---

The Goddess blesses them with remarkable luck yet again, carrying them to victory at Fort Merceus, even over the Death Knight. Felix joins in on the celebrations for once, swept up in the high spirits (and partaking in a few of the spirits that Ashe liberates from the Fort’s stores). He even humors the professor with a dance. Between the alcohol and the proximity to an alpha scent, he worries briefly that he might lose himself.

It’s proven unfounded when Byleth hugs him close at the end of their dance, pressing their cheeks together. There is still stone and lichen and ivory, but not a single one rings as anything more than that. 

“I’m proud of you,” they whisper. “For learning over.” He returns the hug in full force as the pieces slot together. 

The Kingdom army pushes forward toward Enbarr, the end of the war finally in sight. All the loose ends now tucked away.

All except one.

\---

It is the dawn of their invasion of the Imperial Capital. Felix finds the king in his tent, preparing for battle by changing into the full regalia of the King of Lions. It seems to be slow going without a squire, and the blond is more out of armor than in it. He is turning each piece in his hands before putting it on, as though he’s never seen them before. When he takes up one of the gauntlets, he stops fully.

“Dimitri.”

The king drops the gauntlet, whirling around. “Felix!”

The swordsman stoops to pick it up and fits it to Dimitri’s forearm, pulling the straps tight. He reaches around the king for the two halves of his chestplate and sets in on adjusting the straps to Dimitri’s shoulders.

“What are you doing here, why are you-- why do you smell--”

Felix takes a deep breath to brace himself. There is no point in dancing around it.

Once the plates are connected and he has a free hand, he tugs his undershirt collar to the side, showing off the sigil. “Sylvain and I claimed each other. We’re a bonded pair.” He goes back to fixing the straps, eyes flicking up every few seconds to keep careful watch as Dimitri’s face goes blank, one blue eye turning to ice, then fire, then back again.

“Con--” Dimitri’s face contorts, and he ends up with more a grimace than a smile. “Congratulations.” It is gritted out through tightly clenched teeth. There is a faint growl in the middle around the ‘r’. Dimitri drags a hand over his face, looking away. “Forgive me, I--” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “I have forgotten myself. Truly, I am happy for you both.” The motion makes his loosened shirt sleeve fall down around his elbow, revealing numerous scars all down his forearm, all of them bitemarks. Felix could label them each by date. And he remembers - for all the scrapes and bruises _ he _may have come away with out of a heat, never once were any of them from the boar’s teeth. Dimitri stares at the scars himself for a moment, before sheepishly holding his arm to his chest and covering them with his other hand.

Felix steps forward and grabs Dimitri by the hair and pulling him down until their foreheads press together. He closes his eyes and breathes deep, that familiar scent that had been a solace through so much of his life, stained as it now may be with anger and fear and disdain.

Despite having his nose right up against it, the pines are soft - muted as if with fresh rain. There is no copper to chase the steel.

He does not lose any tension. When he drops his shoulders, it is by his will.

“Thank you.” He says. Dimitri goes perfectly still against him, not even breathing. “You did the best you could with what-- where we both were, at the time, and I’m sorry that I--” Wasn’t more grateful? No, not grateful. Forgiving. “Didn’t recognize that.”

From his grip on the king’s head, he can feel every tremor that now goes through Dimitri, fighting the urge to reach out and touch him. Felix releases the deathgrip he has on the other man’s hair to comb his fingers through it once and instead take a gentler hold.

He pulls Dimitri’s head a bit further down, tucks the bridge of his nose under his ear. He feels the tension melt out of Dimitri with a long sigh, and a hint of movement at his waist - just the brush of fingertips over his shirt.

“Felix…” 

“You may not be my alpha. But you _ are _ my _ king_, and I will stand by you. I owe you that much.” Dimitri pulls away, and Felix lets him go, the golden hair sliding between his fingers as the other man returns to his full height. A hand comes down on each of his shoulders, steady and strong, compared to moments ago.

“Felix. You have never owed me anything.”

Felix shrugs one shoulder. “Yeah, well… Call it a favor to a friend, then.”

“... friend…” Dimitri breaths out the word with such reverence, Felix has to blink to check they are still in a tent and not a cathedral. The taller man laughs, light and airy. It gives Felix shivers.

“I am… glad that you consider us such again.” Felix scoffs and turns away, crossing his arms.

“Don’t you get all sappy on me now, boar.” He says, but there’s no real heat in it. A smile is even tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Now come on; let’s get you suited up. We have a war to win, don’t we?” 

There is a fierce grin that splits Dimitri’s face, and for once, all Felix feels when he sees it is excitement.

\---

Dimitri and Byleth leave the main door of the Imperial Palace, hand in hand, and Dimitri holds up the bloodied Areadbhar in a signal of victory. Sylvain drops to his knees, his armor clattering against the city cobblestones, joined by the Lance of Ruin falling beside him.

“Oh thank the Goddess. It’s over.” Felix lets out his own deep sigh of relief, sheathing his sword and letting the sound of cheers wash over him. There is a tugging on his sleeve at his elbow. He looks down to find Sylvain gazing up at him. He is covered in sweat and grime and he radiates exhaustion, but his eyes are shining like polished amber.

“Hey, Felix.” He says. “Marry me.”

“..._ what_?” Sylvain’s face falls, crumbling in disappointment.

“Is that a no?”

“_No, _it’s not--” Felix scoffs, catching Sylvain under a section of armor and dragging him to his feet. “What does it matter?” he clarifies, “We’re already bonded, remember?”

Sylvain sniffs and rubs his mouth with one hand, a mask of a half smile in place when it leaves.

“Yeah, but like… To tell everyone, officially. To celebrate.” The mask cracks when Felix doesn’t say anything.

“We don’t _ have _to, it was just an idea.... Y’know, spur of the moment--”

“Ugh, you’re an _ idiot_,” Felix says, even as he pulls Sylvain down to kiss him. “Sylvain, _ this_,” He slides his hand under Sylvain’s collar, over the bonding sigil, where it buzzes under his hand. “_This _ is enough.” Sylvain ducks his head, hiding the flustered blush creeping across his face. “But I’ll think about it.” 

Sylvain’s gaze snaps back up, absolutely awestruck. And then he is smiling as bright as the Blue Sea Star, gathering the swordsman up in his arms and spinning them both in a circle as he laughs.

When Felix is back on the ground, dizzy and windswept, he goes in for another kiss, and loses himself in the way the two of them fit so nicely against each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap!!  
Thank you so very much for reading. I can't begin to explain how much it means to me. This fic is the longest work I've completed in years, and it's not perfect, but I enjoyed every step of the way (and hope you did too)!
> 
> Come yell with me on Twitter, @jk_rts !  
I have a whole page of fic ideas I plan to work through in this coming year, and would love the company.


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